Why Are They All Staring?
by BecauseFandom
Summary: In the epilogue, Albus asks why everyone is staring at them. This is the story of how James learnt the answer to the same question.
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I don't own anything. I'm just playing with JKR's dolls.

* * *

><p>Prologue<p>

_* A great number of faces, both on the train and off, seemed to be turned towards Harry._

"_Why are they all _staring_?" demanded Albus, as he and Rose craned round to look at the other students._

James, having silently returned to the group to say a final goodbye, looked from the back of Al's head to his father.

Meeting his father's gaze he smiled ruefully as he remembered his first day at Hogwarts, exactly two years ago, and all that followed afterwards.

* * *

><p>* Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, page 607<p> 


	2. Chapter One

James Potter pressed his face to the window in an attempt to maintain eye contact with his parents for just that little bit of extra time, but all too soon, the train turned the corner and they were lost from sight.

Sighing, James turned to face the compartment, and looked at the family members that were still with him.

"How long - " he began, but was immediately cut of by Dominique Weasley.

"Do not even _finish_ that question James" she stated warningly, before bidding her brother and sister goodbye, and heading off to find her school friends.

Moments after she had slammed out of the compartment, Louis rose from his seat, taking his sister's departure as a signal that it was okay for him to follow suit, and go and catch up with the people he hadn't seen since last July. With a murmured goodbye, he too was gone, admittedly with less flamboyance than his elder sibling.

Chuckling, Teddy Lupin pulled the eldest sibling towards him, and turned to James. "So," he said, "I take it you're looking forwards to starting school then?"

Apparently, that was the wrong thing to say. Both Teddy and Victoire instinctively shrunk away from the small boy opposite them, as a verbal barrage of excitement began to pour from his mouth. Nodding bemusedly, Teddy tried desperately to keep up with what his little brother in all but blood was saying.

"…and I'm really hoping I'll be in Gryffindor, but Dad says not to get my hopes up too much in case it doesn't happen, and I'm really looking forwards to starting the lessons, but Mum says I'd better not behave like Dad did otherwise they might not let me go back after I go home for Christmas, and then I was talking to Uncle Ron about what to expect at Hogwarts, and I might have mentioned that I was worried that I might get lost, and then he mentioned something to me, so I went and investigated and - " Here, James finally took a deep shuddering breath, " – look what I stole from Dad's office."

Teddy had just enough sense to jerk out of his stupor to accept the piece of battered parchment that was being thrust towards him.

"What is it?" he asked cautiously. He had had enough experience with Ron to know that he was prone to testing out new joke products on his young nephews and nieces (although, markedly never on his own children…)

"It's a map. It was written by - " in typical James fashion, he froze, and looked around in an over-cautious manner, before dropping his voice to a stage whisper. " – the _Marauders_."

Teddy looked excitedly at James. Like all Weasley children – because, despite varying surnames, everyone in their family was considered a Weasley – he was only too familiar with the Marauders and their links to the family. "_Really_? How does it work?"

"Well, you see…"

* * *

><p>By the time the boys had finally tired of the map, the train was nearing Hogwarts, and the other students were starting to move up and down the train, returning to their compartments in order to get changed into their robes.<p>

Whilst Victoire was out in the corridor talking to a friend, James took the moment to talk to her boyfriend in private, to voice the problem that had been troubling him all afternoon. Teddy was his confidante, his advisor, the one he turned to when he couldn't talk to any of the adults.

"Teddy," he began, fiddling nervously with the hem of his new robes. It was a sign that showed how nervous he really was, despite whatever bravado he put on. Teddy, having been raised in such a large family, was well attuned to traits like this, and instantly recognised that now was not the time for jokes, or teasing.

"What is it James?" he asked, concern colouring his usually calm voice.

"What - " James paused, as though considering his question. "Why do people keep staring at us?" _At me._ "Every time they walk past our compartment, they slow down, stop talking, and just _look_. I mean, I'm used to it when I'm out with Mum because people always recognise her from the Harpies, but that doesn't explain why they're all staring now…" James looked up at Teddy; clearly that was as conclusive as his question was going to get.

Teddy swallowed nervously. He really wasn't the person to answer this question. He remembered a time six years ago when he'd been in exactly the same position. He remembered what he'd felt when he finally learnt the real reason why people always stared at his Godfather, why everyone knew his name.

For a long time, he had questioned Harry's decision to keep his story secret from the new additions to the family, but recently, after many deep conversations with his Gran, Bill, and Harry himself, he had come to appreciate the reasoning behind the decision. By keeping his young relatives in the dark, Harry ensured minimal disruption their childhood. He was giving them the childhood that he never got to have.

Teddy raised his gaze and met James' worried eyes. He had to tell him something, anything.

In a feat of eloquence his own father would have been proud of, Teddy managed a garbled "um".

Luckily, he was saved from having to say any more by the shrill whistle announcing the trains' arrival in Hogsmeade.

And so, as the two boys were swept away, and separated, by the crowd, one heading towards the thestral-drawn carriages and the other towards the small boats, James' question went unanswered, but not forgotten.


	3. Chapter Two

James was being watched. He hated it. He hated the way that everyone was watching him, some trying to be subtle, sliding their eyes away whenever he looked at them, others staring blatantly, openly. And he hated that he didn't know why.

Like Teddy, James was very adept at interpreting body language, especially that of his family. So he _knew_ that Teddy had avoided his question on purpose. He also suspected that Teddy knew more than he was going to let on. Therefore, James decided, he would accost him at the next possible opportunity.

Crossing his arms over his chest, and huffing frustratedly, James glared around the room in which all of the first years were gathered in. Teddy had shown it to him earlier on the map, so James knew that it was a small antechamber off the Great Hall.

James fought the smile that threatened to break the aloof expression which he was already struggling to maintain. The people who surrounded him would be his classmates, it was essential that he appeared cool, that he appeared to be someone you would want to be friends with, like Teddy. Bu-ut, he was about to be sorted! James could barely contain his excitement…

"You look just like your father." James looked into the face of the bold girl who stood before him.

"Do you know my dad?" he asked in confusion. He certainly didn't recognise the girl.

"No…" she replied in equal confusion, looking at James as though he had just spoken in Dutch.

"Oh."

The girl looked as though she were about to say something more, but was interrupted when Professor Flitwick entered the room, and began to shepherd the children nearest the door into the Great Hall.

* * *

><p>"James Potter."<p>

If it was possible, the hall grew even quieter than it already was, and the gaze of the students already focussed on James grew exponentially. Noting this as further evidence in his case, James looked up from his feet.

Now that the moment to be sorted had arrived, James wasn't feeling anywhere near as confident as he had before. Looking up at the staff table, he sought out the gaze of Neville Longbottom, who smiled encouragingly at James, and motioned to the stool beside which Professor Flitwick stood, holding the sorting hat.

Taking a deep breath, James approached the stool, and sat. The last thing he saw before the hat threw him into darkness was Teddy and Victoire smiling encouragingly over at the Gryffindor table.

"Hmm, I wondered when I'd be seeing the next generation of Potters…"

_Wait, What? _thought James, _the hat talks?_

"Of course I talk! How else do you propose I sort you if I can't interrogate the conscious and unconscious mind?"

_Um…_

"Now, let me see. You have your father's loyalty, but also his determination. You could do well in Slytherin… What else, what else? There's a burning curiosity, it could get you in trouble though, so maybe not Ravenclaw. You have a sharp mind, much like your mother, but there's a sense of mischief in your unconscious – perhaps from you Uncles, but more likely from your Grandfather – that leads me to worry that you won't put that mind to academics…"

There was a heavy pause, which only furthered James' agitation. He couldn't decide whether to press the hat for information about his father, or to make it hurry up with its decision. In the end, his curiosity won out. _So which house?_

"I'm getting there. I think perhaps, maybe, but you'd never be happy there…"

_What, where? Unhappy? Don't put somewhere I'll be unhappy for Merlin's sake!_

"Well, when you word your argument so eloquently, I suppose I'd best put you in…GRYFFINDOR!"

James sighed in relief, and removed the hat from his head. Hopping off the stool, he did his best to ignore all the people staring at him as he walked off too join his new house-mates.


	4. Chapter Three

James found himself watching the rest of the first years get sorted with Teddy sat to his left, and another first year to his right. Trying to be surreptitious, he studied the unfamiliar boy, and wondered if they would end up friends.

The boy was around the same height as James, with pale skin, and hair such a dark brown that it was almost black. And, he noted with some relief, the boy wasn't staring, or stealing glances at him at all: instead, he realised with some amusement, the roles had been reversed, and he was the one staring.

Knowing how annoying he himself found the unwanted attention, James turned back to the front of the hall, where there was only one student left to be sorted.

"Emily Whithers."

As the lone girl stepped forwards, he recognised her as the girl who had commented on his similarity to his father, and sighed with relief when she was very quickly sorted into Hufflepuff. Judging by the look on her face however, he concluded that she wasn't so pleased with her new house.

Once Emily had taken her seat and the stool had been removed from the hall, Professor McGonagall rose from her seat in order to address the pupils. Having heard his family enthuse about Dumbledore's start of term speeches, James turned his attention to the Headmistress in anticipation of what might follow.

Clearing her throat, she began to speak. "Welcome to all of you, especially our new students. I have just a few announcements to make before we begin the feast.

"There have been a few changes to the staff this year. I am pleased to welcome Professor Moneypenny to the staff, who will be teaching transfiguration. In addition to this, as a returning pupil, she accepted my offer to take on the role of Head of Slytherin House. I wish her the best of wishes for the coming year." Here, she paused, and the students took their cue to applaud. James, however, found himself to be clapping harder than many of those who surrounded him; of course, he already knew of the tenuous relationship between the Slytherins and the other houses, but he hadn't realised the reality of the hostility. Shrugging it off, he continued with his enthusiastic applause, earning him a few raised eyebrows from some of the students sat nearest to him.

"Also, I am pleased to announce that Professor Longbottom, our Herbology Professor, will also be taking on the Head of House role for his old house. For those of you new to the school, and thus previously unexposed to his fierce patriotism," McGonagall was briefly cut off by the laughter from the older students, and Professor Longbottom turned a delicate shade of pink. "He will be the new Head of Gryffindor." The applause this time was distinctly warmer, and James couldn't help but feel a little awkward – the behaviour was so contrary to the way that he had been raised.

"Other than that, there is very little else for me to say, only to remind of a few rules. Bullying will _not_ be tolerated, the Forbidden Forest is exactly that, _forbidden_, and _no_ magic is to be used in the corridors.

"Now that everything of pressing importance is out of the way, may the feast begin!" she finished with a distinct flourish.

James knew it was coming, he _knew_ that the plates before would magically fill with food. Everyone, especially Uncle Ron, had taken great pleasure in describing it to him. But _knowing_ about it and _seeing_ it were apparently very different things. And so, he could hardly be blamed when his chin all but hit his chest.

His reaction, however, was nothing compared to that of the boy whom he sat beside. He let out an excited squeak, and before anyone else could comment, came in with the least expected comment possible.

"How on earth did that just happen?"

There was a shocked silence from those nearest him, and it was Teddy who eventually broke the silence.

"Um, well, you are at a school for magic…"

"Oh, yeah… I mean, I knew that, but it still hasn't really sunk in, you know?" Judging by the blank looks he was receiving, they didn't. "I didn't know magic existed until I got my letter – muggle-born I think they called me. Is that a bad thing?" he asked, and James could detect the undercurrent of fear in his voice.

"Not all," he responded honestly. He had a feeling he was going to get on well with this boy. "I'm James Potter, by the way." He said, offering his hand.

The boy shook his hand enthusiastically, in a way that reminded James somewhat forcefully of his Uncle George. "I'm Matt Foster."

* * *

><p>The two boys were still talking animatedly when remnants of dessert finally faded from the plates.<p>

"…I cannot wait to see it played. It sounds so much more exciting than muggle sports!"

James flashed the boy a grin, and turned to scowl at the people who were still staring at him. Matt followed his gaze, and voiced the question that had been lurking in the corner of his mind since he first met James.

"Um, I hope you don't mind me asking, but why do people keep staring at you?"

James turned back to Matt, and shrugged. "I don't really know, I've been wondering about it myself. The best that I can come up with is that it's because of Mum – she's quite a famous quidditch player, turned columnist. It's certainly nothing I've done, and I really doubt it's got anything to do with Dad; he's too much of a family man to have ever done anything to get himself that well known." He looked at Matt and shrugged again.

Matt nodded knowingly, and took a final gulp of his pumpkin juice before both boys rose to follow the prefect who was calling them all to follow them.

"First years, follow me. The common room's this way. _Please_ try and remember the route, I do _not_ want to spend the year giving out directions."

The group walked along in near silence, everyone too full and tired to make much attempt at conversation now that they were on the move. James amused himself by watching Matt's astonishment every time they came across anything vaguely magical – he knew that the map he had hidden away meant that he didn't have to worry about remembering directions just yet.

Finally, the group arrived at the painting that masked the entrance to the common room, and James smiled as he noticed Sir Cadogan – about whom his father had warned him profusely, muttering incoherently about "quests" and "pompous attitudes" – lurking unobtrusively in the corner of the frame.

"This term's password is 'Gillyweed'. Again, _please_ try to remember that." And with that, the painting swung forwards to reveal the tower that would be James' home for the coming year.

Climbing through the hole into the round room, he took in the red curtains, the roaring fire, the comfy-looking sofas, and the subtle gold décor. _Yes_, he thought to himself, _I can _definitely_ see why everyone loves the school so much._

* * *

><p>Later that evening, James smiled to himself as he snuggled deeper into his bed. In the bed next to him, he could hear Matt doing the same thing. Knowing that it was Sunday tomorrow, they had stayed up later than strictly necessary enthusing over everything they had seen that day.<p>

Quiet snores emanated from one of the other two beds, and nothing but the deep breathing of sleep could be heard from the other.

James amused himself by trying to guess who was making each sound. The snores, he reasoned, were probably coming from Daniel Reading. James had found that, despite the fact that he stared at him more than he was comfortable with, he really enjoyed Daniel's company. The boy, he had learnt, came from a wizarding background, had indecent amounts of energy and enthusiasm, and was an avid fan of old muggle sci-fi movies.

Therefore, the quiet sleeper was Michael Fisher, the other boy they shared the dormitory with. Michael was a quiet boy, who only said what was necessary, but James found that it seemed to draw people towards him – Michael and Daniel certainly looked well on the way to becoming best friends. Despite his quiet nature, they had, in fact, learnt quite a lot about Michael: like Matt, he was muggle-born, but unlike Matt, he had always entertained the idea of the existence of magic, ergo, his favourite book was, and always had been, _Lord of the Rings_. He had, under pressure, admitted to reading everything about the magical world he could get his hands on since receiving his Hogwarts letter, and thus had reacted with much less shock to the many surprises of the school that Matt had. He also, much to the confusion of James, had looked at him with a sense of recognition when they first met, but had not, apparently, felt the need to stare at him in the way that so many others had.

James smiled to himself as he ran the day's events through his mind. Rolling over, he let out an excited giggle – which he would deny the next morning when Matt raised it – as he considered the coming year.


	5. Chapter Four

The following morning found all four boys up surprisingly early, considering that it was a Sunday so there was no reason for them to be up.

They had gathered around the Gryffindor table, and were happily eating their way through every breakfast item conceivable. As was to be expected from any group of young boys in the wizarding world, the conversation had invariably turned to quidditch.

"…No. Way!" cried Michael, staring incredulously at the two boys who had just finished explaining the intricacies of quidditch to him. Apparently, he was not inclined to believe fanciful tales of nosedives which avoided near-fatal collisions with the ground with only inches to spare, or horrific injuries as received from over-enthusiastic bludgers (and beaters).

He turned to Matt, who had been surprisingly quiet, for support. Matt just shrugged, not quite sure whether he believed the two young wizards either.

"It's all true, I promise!" proclaimed James, "Trust me, I know everything about quidditch. Nearly everyone in my family plays it."

It was Daniel's turn to stare at James I disbelief now. Daniel, whose family had moved to America when the first war broke out, and only returned ten years ago, was unfamiliar with the quidditch prowess of the Weasley family. Even if he had been, he would have been inclined to disbelieve James, based on the sheer improbability of it – in America, where the wizarding schools were generally much bigger than Hogwarts, there were only a very few witches and wizards talented enough at quidditch to play for their schools.

Finally catching the looks of disbelief that he was receiving, James threw his arms into the air in exasperation, and collapsed onto the table (neatly avoiding his plate of eggs) with a mumbled cry of "Why won't anyone believe me?"

"Because you're a melodramatic little toe-rag at times," came the amused response from Teddy, who, unbeknownst to James, had just arrived at the table.

Ignoring the death-glare being sent his way be James, he slid onto the bench between James and Matt, warranting a hiss from James. Turning to the other boys, he addressed them with a slight nod in James' direction to indicate who he was talking about.

"Why's he sulking today then?"

If he had been expecting a response though, he was much mistaken. The others appeared to be struck dumb upon being addressed so familiarly by a seventh year. Either that, or they were distracted by the electric-blue hair Teddy had decided to model today.

It was Daniel who overcame his silence first. "He's claiming that his whole family played quidditch for the school." The spell broken, Matt and Michael both murmured their assent.

Teddy quirked an eyebrow, and turned to James. "Been telling lies again kid?"

James let out an indignant huff, and kicked Teddy's ankle under the table. "I have not! I said _most_ of our family played quidditch."

Teddy laughed at James' apparent irritation, and smiled at the other boys. "Well, I can't say fairer than that." Catching their doubtful looks, he spoke again. "Come on, I'll show you."

* * *

><p>"Where are we going?" asked Michael, walking alongside Teddy.<p>

The usually quiet boy had found himself somewhat drawn to the older boy, despite his initial appearance. Though neither boy would recognise it, Teddy exuded much of his father's calmness, and it would always draw people to him, make them more comfortable in his presence. And so, Teddy was helping to draw Michael out of his shell, without having to do anything at all. In the weeks to come, a mutual understanding, a kinship of sorts, would arise between the two. Though they may not spend their free time together, Teddy would keep an eye of Michael as much as he did on James, and Michael would, in turn, turn to Teddy whenever he needed advice.

"To the trophy room," the older boy responded with an easy smile.

"Eurgh, why?" came the disgruntled reply from Teddy's other side.

"Because, James," Teddy replied with painstaking patience, "I thought that you liked it when you were proven right." James, apparently having no response to such logic, remained silent.

"I'm still not sure why we need to go to the trophy room though…?" Matt hesitantly pointed out from behind the trio, where he was walking with Daniel, who had been trying to explain why the portraits moved, as best an eleven-year old wizard yet to start his education can.

"I thought I'd show you guys the Quidditch Cup -" Teddy began, before James cut him off.

"- so that I can prove the alarming frequency with which my family members appear on it!" he finished with a cocky grin, very reminiscent of his grandfather's. "Now, _come on_!"

* * *

><p>"…And most recently, the school year of '96-97, Gryffindor won the cup with Mum, Dad, and Uncle Ron playing. Therefore, that's, discounting cousins and all that, my Grandad, my Mum, my Dad, Uncles Charlie, Fred, George, Ron, and Aunt Angelina. Therefore, I wi-"<p>

James turned around from where he had been inspecting the Quidditch cups with a look of triumph on his face, only to find a very amused Teddy (who already knew everything that James was saying), and disinterested Matt (who was studying some shields in the corner of the room), and no Michael or Daniel.

"Well," Teddy said, barely concealing his smirk, "It appears that you were right after all."

"Where did they go?" demanded James, ignoring Teddy's silent laughter.

"They got bored. And left. As I would have done, if I could get a word in edgeways…" With a good-natured ruffle of James' hair, much to James' displeasure, Teddy sauntered out of the room with a call over his shoulder of "places to go, people to see."

"Well," huffed James for the second time that morning. Turning to Matt, he found him still engrossed in his study of, as James surmised, some rather unexciting school awards.

James turned back to the quidditch section again, and was just beginning to lose himself in the familiar names, when Matt's voice broke the silence.

"Hey, James, what's your dad's first name again?"

"Harry. Why?" James responded, without much interest.

"And does his middle name begin with a 'J'?" came the response, which James didn't fail to notice didn't answer his question.

"Yes, but why?" he asked, interest piqued.

"Come and look at this."

James hurried over to where Matt stood, and looked at the shield he was pointing to. It wasn't prominent, tucked away amongst a few similar shields, which, James realised, were surprisingly few given the time range they appeared to span.

Leaning closer, he read the inscription upon it.

"_Special Award for Services to the School_

_Awarded to Mr Harry J. Potter_

_In the school year of 1992-1993."_

James' eyes widened in surprise – his father had certainly never mentioned receiving any such award whilst he was at school.

"That is your dad, isn't it?" asked Matt.

"Yeah…" The shield next to it caught James' eye now. "And that one next to it, was awarded to his best friend, my Uncle Ron. Whatever they got them for, they probably did it together, given that no one else has one…"

"I wonder what it was…" mused Matt.

"Hmm," James assented absentmindedly, as he ran the calculations through his mind, "They were only in their second year when they got them."

Matt looked at James, eyebrows raised. Clearly he was as impressed as James was. "And you're sure he never mentioned anything about it?"

"No…"

* * *

><p>James had been running his conversation with Matt through his mind all day. He was certain that his dad had never mentioned anything about special awards, or doing anything of particular merit, other than quidditch, whilst he was at school.<p>

_But_, said the little voice in the back of James' mind, _haven't you always thought that there was something that they weren't telling you?_

As much as James tried to ignore it, he had to admit the truth in the question. Recently, he had found himself wondering if there was something that his family knew, that he didn't. There had been odd little hints that he'd only started to pick up on as he got older; the way that conversations would stop as soon as he entered the room, the way that his family seemed to overreact to the simplest of occurrences, the looks they exchanged when something apparently innocuous was mentioned.

But James couldn't be sure.

Pulling himself out of his thoughts, he looked down at the letter he was working on. It was, he had to admit, somewhat difficult to concentrate when you're sat in one of the comfiest chairs in the common room, with a roaring fire before you, and your three dorm-mates engaged in an enthusiastic game of wizards' chess, their first for two of them.

_Dear Mum and Dad (and Al and Lily),_

_I'M AT HOGWARTS! And the hat put me in Gryffindor! Of course, I knew it would, so I shouldn't have been too shocked ;)_

_I'm sharing a dormitory with three other boys: Daniel Reading, who's the only one apart from me who knew anything about the wizarding world, Michael Fisher (he's a bit quiet, but he seems to get on really well with Teddy, so hopefully Teddy'll look out for him) and Matt Foster. I get on really well with Matt – I think we're going to be great friends. Maybe we'll give Dad and Uncle Ron a run for their money…_

James paused, and chewed on the end of his pen (he, try though he might, simply could not get used to using a quill. However, using a pen wasn't so unusual in the wizarding world anymore, as, since the war, wizard-muggle relations had made great advances). Now _would_ be the opportune moment to ask about the special awards, but he felt somehow hesitant. His dad hadn't mentioned it, and he always had a good reason for doing anything questionable…

Instead, James decided to employ a more roundabout way of approaching the subject.

_This morning, Teddy took us up to the Trophy room, to show us all the House and Quidditch cups. We were rather impressed at seeing how well our family was represented there – in the quidditch team lists, the head boy and girl lists, prefect lists…_

He decided to leave the point there – let them make of it what they will. Glancing at the clock, James was shocked to see that it was much later than he had expected, and, knowing that he had to be up for lessons tomorrow, resolved to finish the letter there, and head to bed.

_Anyway, I'm off to bed, so that'll have to be it for now._

_Love, James._

Rolling up the scroll, James smiled to himself. It felt nice to know that he had something to send to his family; he was already starting to miss them more than he had expected, and he was just grateful that he already had family at the school.


	6. Chapter Five

The first day of term dawned clear, and bright, the weather surprisingly pleasant for the time of the year, and James was awake with the dawn chorus to welcome it in.

Despite a later than expected bedtime the night before, the eldest Potter child had found himself unable to get back to sleep, so he had risen from bed and holed himself up in one of the dorms window seats to watch the dawning of the day.

As the sky finally faded from a dusty pink to a clear azure, he examined the mixed emotions which had kept him awake. He was excited of course, but the excitement was countered with strong nerves, and the uneasy feeling that hadn't quite left him since Matt's comment about his dad yesterday.

_Well_, he decided, _I'm not going to feel any better sitting here doing nothing._

Hauling himself from the window, he dressed quietly so as not to wake the others, grabbed his bag and, after some deliberation, the map.

It was only as he had descended to the common room that he realised he had no idea what he was going to do for the two hours until everyone else awoke. However, once he reached the common room, he was surprised to discover that he wasn't the only one awake.

A tall, thin girl was sat curled in one of the sofas which sat beside the now empty fireplace. As she sat reading, James thought that she would be remarkably non-descript if it weren't for her hair. It had been cut into a kind of choppy bob, and was, he noted, red. Not ginger, actually red, the kind of red that colour change charms could never hope to replicate. _She's either some kind of Metamorphmagus_, he thought, _or _very_ familiar with muggle hair dyes_.

As he stepped into the room proper, his foot caught against the edge of a table, and the normally quiet noise echoed round the room like a thunder-clap. The girl looked up from her book, and noticing his arrival, closed it.

"Hi," she said with a friendly smile at James. He noted absently that the book appeared to be a brand new copy of _The Tales of Beedle the Bard. _"Couldn't sleep either?"

James, having been caught off-guard, made a non-committed sort of grunt that could have been taken as affirmation.

Apparently the girl did, because it her previous question was immediately followed by another. "Did you want to sit together?"

"No!" James responded more forcefully than required, catching both of them by surprise. Something about the girl's steady gaze was making him nervous, something about the way she seemed to be examining everything her eyes fell on, including, in this case, James himself. "I mean, no, thank you. I was just going to the – er -" he cast his eyes round desperately, finally alighting on an abandoned piece of parchment, which reminded him of the letter he had written, and was currently somewhere in his bag waiting to be posted. "To the owlery."

Looking back at the girl, he offered an apologetic smile, but she just shrugged, unperturbed by James' peculiar behaviour, and returned to her book.

So James, having left himself no option, was forced to exit the common room, and head to the owlery, all before six in the morning.

* * *

><p>As James started in on his second round of toast, he reflected on his fortunate decision to take the map with him. The owlery hadn't been as easy to find as he had expected, and trying to find his way to the Great Hall form there had proved especially difficult since the stair-cases appeared to move most enthusiastically - and confusingly - first thing in the morning.<p>

However, it had meant that he had been able to send his letter off much sooner than he had expected. He may, he realised, even get a reply as soon as tomorrow morning if his new owl, Horatio, was as fast as the man at Eeylops Owl Emporium had promised he was.

James was pulled from his reverie when Matt flung himself down next to him, and grabbed a piece of toast.

"Where were you this morning? It took us _ages_ to find the hall without you…" he whined as Michael and Daniel took seats opposite them, deeply involved in whatever they were discussing whilst, albeit subtly, shooting James furtive glances.

Brushing aside the other boys' behaviour, he turned to Matt. "I woke up early, and couldn't get back to sleep. I'm sure it wasn't that hard to find the hall."

Judging by Matt's look, it was. But he was prevented from saying anything as Professor Longbottom had reached the boys, and was in the process of handing out timetables.

Extracting James', he offered him a grin, which James was quick to return, until the Professor rounded it off with a pointed comment. "Gotten into any trouble yet, James?"

"Of course not Ne – er – Professor Longbottom!" James responded, affronted.

"Won't be long though, knowing what you're like."

James turned back to his toast, and tried to scowl angrily at it, but knowing the validity of the professor's comment, failed. Shoving the remaining piece into his mouth, he leant towards Matt, and spread his timetable out on the table.

"So," he said, tracing his finger along the column for Monday, "It looks like we've got Transfiguration with the slytherins, then Charms with the hufflepuffs this morning, and then double Herbology with the slytherins again in the afternoon."

"Hmm," responded Matt, without looking up. Clearly, he was not a morning sort of person.

* * *

><p>James and Matt arrived in time, if not slightly early, for Transfiguration. James would have happily put it down as being due to his superior navigation skills, but in reality, they had left breakfast early in order to collect their books, and find their way there.<p>

And so the boys had managed to get a good table – in the middle near, but not at, the front of the class. They chatted happily as the rest of the class gradually trickled in until it was only Professor Moneypenny that they were waiting for.

When she arrived, all of the gryffindor first years immediately fell silent, but the slytherins, perhaps expecting some sort of special treatment, continued to talk.

Thus, Professor Moneypenny announced the beginning of her teaching career at Hogwarts with "Ten points from Slytherin, and it _will_ be more if you continue to talk."

James and Matt exchanged a glance, eyebrows raised. James was impressed; his dad had warned him that some teachers could be a little biased, and he had certainly heard enough about the old head of Slytherin House from when his parents had been at school.

They soon discovered, however, that Professor Moneypenny was not like Snape, nor was she like Slughorn. It appeared that she didn't have favourites, or, at least, you had to work hard to become a favourite.

She was also a practical teacher. Unlike McGonagall, Moneypenny believed that the best method of education was the hands-on approach. And so she immediately started off the class by placing the students into pairs, so that they could work on turning a match into a needle.

Matt was happy to discover that he'd be paired with Michael, and immediately turned in his chair to flash the quiet boy a grin.

"James Potter, you'll be paired with Ali Tennison." James looked up at the mention of his name, and turned in his chair to see who he had been paired with, only to be met with a familiar gaze.

* * *

><p>It turned out that Ali was a muggle-born witch, with a wicked sense of humour, and more quirks than James had ever imagined was possible. He also found that you soon got over her unusual way of watching the world, and that, like Matt, he really enjoyed her company.<p>

However, as they traipsed out of the Transfiguration classroom, laughing hysterically at an anecdote of one of Ali's more unusual instances of underage magic, he had to acknowledge the fact that neither of them had shown any early signs of talent in Transfiguration. Their match had stubbornly refused to become anything other than a match.

Matt, on the contrary, was brimming with excitement when they met him in the corridor just outside of the classroom.

"Did you see?" He asked without so much of a greeting.

James smiled good-naturedly, and clapped him on the back. He had, afterall, seen, just as everyone else in the class had. Matt had been the first in the class to make a passable needle from his match, a point which Professor Moneypenny had not let slide. Matt looked well on his way to becoming the professor's star pupil, and had earned Gryffindor twenty points in the process.

The three walked along in a comfortable silence, heading in what they hoped was the general direction of the charms classroom.

Eventually, Ali was the one to break the silence. "Do either of you actually know where we're going?" she asked, humour evident in her voice. Both the boys turned hopefully to her, but she was quick to dash their hope. "Because I certainly don't."

There was an awkward moment where they all just looked at each other, before Matt turned to James. "What was it you were saying earlier about being a master of navigation or something?"

James scowled at his friend, and spun to face the corridor in the vague hope that some sort of sign would appear to guide them on their way, only to come face-to-face with Teddy.

Teddy just quirked an eyebrow, and asked, somewhat directly, "Lost?"

* * *

><p>With Teddy's help, they made their way to charms just in time. When they reached the classroom, they were greeted by a smiling Professor Flitwick, who ushered them into the classroom after thanking Teddy for showing them the way.<p>

Looking around the room, they found that the only remaining spaces were on a table, empty but for one girl. Taking their seats, James sat next to the girl, recognising her a beat too late.

She turned to him, a broad smile splitting her face, and opened her mouth to say something which James was sure would be highly embarrassing, but, once again, he was saved by Flitwick. Turning to the professor, subconsciously shifting as far away from Emily as possible, he leant on his hand, and tried to ignore her unrelenting study of him.

Unfortunately, Flitwick's lecture finished only too soon, and he set the class to work in their tables on defining and explaining what they understood by the study of charms.

Seizing her opportunity, Emily opened her mouth. "So, James – that is your name isn't it?" James simply nodded weakly, overwhelmed by her enthusiasm. "It's good that we've gotten another chance to talk, don't you think? I must admit, I was quite disappointed when we weren't put in the same house, but what can you do, hey?"

James continued to stare vacantly at her, only tearing his gaze away when she nudged him on the elbow, and even then, he only looked at said elbow.

This though, was evidently too much for Ali and Matt to bear, and they burst into the giggles which they had, until then, been successfully repressing.

Noticing this, Emily rounded on them. "I don't know what you think is so funny," she began, "But _we_ are _trying_ to have a serious conversation here." And she turned back to James, with what looked suspiciously like a flutter of her eyelashes.

The inflexion on 'we', however, was apparently too much for Matt to withstand, and he dissolved into nothing short of hysterics. Despite her companion's laughter, Ali regained her composure, and in a move that James was forever grateful for, shoehorned her way into the conversation.

"Oh, I'm _terribly_ sorry to interrupt you," she stated, he voice laced so thickly with sarcasm that Emily looked like she'd been slapped, "But _I_ would quite like to get on with the work set."

Clearly torn between glaring daggers at Ali, and actually saying something, Emily ended up with her mouth hanging open, and her eyes semi-narrowed. She also, somehow, missed the stage-worthy wink that Ali flashed at James. Eventually, Emily closed her mouth, and leaned over to whisper in James' ear.

"Don't worry, we'll finish this conversation later. In private."

The girl already intimidated James, but the intention behind her words had the eleven-year old swallowing in abject terror, and widening his eyes in panic at Ali.

Ali however, succumbed to her building giggles again, and left James to fend for himself.


	7. Chapter Six

"…I can't believe you just ditched me when the bell went!" cried James, as he flung himself down at the Gryffindor table.

Matt looked at his friend, and opened his mouth to offer a half-hearted apology, but lost his train of thought as Emily burst into the hall, frantically searching for something, or someone. James and Ali, having their backs to the door, were unaware of the new arrival, but Ali was astute enough to register Matt's renewed laughter, and glance over her shoulder to see its source.

Fighting the urge to join the boy's laughter, Ali glanced over her shoulder again, only to see Emily walking towards them with a look of sheer determination on her face. She turned to the boy next to her who was glaring defiantly at the plate before him – _he really does look quite shaken by the whole situation,_ she realised.

Rolling her eyes, she took pity on the boy, and, checking that Emily was now close enough to hear her, she giggled. "Oh, James," she managed between her giggles, before smacking him lightly on his arm, and then – to the shock of everyone – leaning over to kiss him on his cheek.

Everyone seemed to freeze for a moment, and with a smirk, Ali returned to her lunch as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened, and watched their reactions.

Emily was clearly seething. She had stopped in her approach and was glaring dangerously at Ali. Finally, she turned on her heel, and stalked back towards her own table.

Matt had also frozen. With his mouth hanging open, and his fork halfway to his mouth, he looked torn between wanting to say something urgently, and returning to his previous laughter. One look at James' face was enough to ensure that the latter won out.

James, for his part, had turned positively _scarlet_. He was looking everywhere, except at Ali, and spluttering indignantly. The boy looked so uncomfortable; Ali almost felt that she should have left him to Emily's devices. Finally, just as Emily turned on her heel, James managed to form a coherent sentence.

"_What_ was that?"

Ali just smiled knowingly, and motioned towards Emily. James turned to see what she was motioning to, and, upon spotting the retreating figure, spun back to face the table.

"So you _kissed_ me?" he spluttered – clearly he wasn't going to let this drop.

"Well," Ali began, the smirk having returned to her features, "I wouldn't have bothered if I'd known you'd rather have dealt with her on your again." She looked at the boy next to her, and raised an eyebrow. The blood drained from James' face as he recognised what she was implying.

The three of them fell into an uncomfortable silence, which Ali broke.

"Besides, I could have kissed you on the lips, but I thought that might have been overkill."

This was apparently too much for Teddy to bear. He had, miraculously, managed to remain silent as he watched the scene unfold before him from his seat beside Matt. The seventh year caved to the threatening giggles, and joined Matt in laughing at his 'brother's' obvious discomfort.

Victoire meanwhile, simply leant around her boyfriend to raise her eyebrows questioningly at Ali. Ali meanwhile simply smirked, shrugged, and slipped her arm around James' waist.

James jumped in his seat, and turned to glare at Ali, who merely winked roguishly at him, and quirked an eyebrow, clearly questioning whether he really thought she was being serious.

Looking at the four laughing students that surrounded him, James fought the infections sound. _But_, as he finally gave in, _it had been rather amusing…_

* * *

><p>The three friends had finally sobered up by the time double Herbology was part way through. The 'incident' had kept them in good spirits for the rest of their lunch hour, and they had only just managed to stop giggling every time they caught one another's eye.<p>

Professor Longbottom, meanwhile, was regarding the three of them grouped around the table, as the class read the first couple of pages of their textbook. Boring though he knew it was, he knew that it was essential that they were made properly aware of any potential dangers in the greenhouses.

The three of them reminded him rather forcefully of another group of friends that he had known. However, as he studied them closer, he didn't fail to notice the differences between them. These three had formed a clear friendship much sooner than their counterparts, and, Neville suspected, they would most likely have a much happier friendship, without the pressures that had been piled upon their predecessors

A whispered exclamation drew his attention, and he turned to the other side of the room, where the slytherins in the class had grouped themselves. _However…_ he mused, his gaze alighting on one student who was glaring venomously at James' bowed head. He would have to keep an eye on Ernst Nott…

James couldn't focus on the words on the page before him. The back of his neck was prickling uncomfortably in a way that had become all too familiar to him. Tearing his gaze away from the page, he sat up, and cast his eyes around the greenhouse. It didn't take him long to find the source of his discomfort. A slight slytherin boy was glaring at him with unbridled hatred, but, unlike many of the others who had stared at James previously, he didn't look away when James met his gaze. James offered a weak smile, but it only appeared to annoy the boy further, and his eyes narrowed to little more than slits.

James shifted uncomfortably in his seat, and dropped his gaze back to his textbook. Matt, noticing his friend's shift, looked up, and caught the glare that was still being directed to the back of James' head. With a furrowed brow, he also turned unseeingly back to the text book. _What on earth is going on…_

* * *

><p>James sat dejectedly in a corner of the common room, and stared at the carpet as though it might reveal the answers to the numerous questions that were buzzing round his head.<p>

Matt shifted on his seat beside James. "It's just weird though, isn't it?"

"Hmm?" asked James, looking at his friend's equally thoughtful face.

"I mean, you say that you haven't done anything – and I believe you!" he put in hurriedly catching James' look, "And that's what makes it so weird."

"What _are_ you talking about?" asked James, although he suspected that he already knew.

"The way everyone stares at you," Matt responded without preamble. He paused delicately, as though weighing up what he was about to say. "I saw the way that boy was staring at you in Herbology."

James looked up sharply, and met his friend's concerned gaze. He shrugged helplessly.

Neither boy said anything for a while, and were unlikely to have said anything further on the matter, if they hadn't been interrupted.

"Still fretting over that boy in Herbology?" asked Ali, flinging herself into the nonexistent space between the boys.

Both Matt and James turned to stare at her, shocked that she had noticed, _although,_ James realised, _I really shouldn't be surprised. She does seem to notice everything._

"Not exactly," he finally responded. Ali raised an eyebrow. "It's just - I want to know why everyone seems to stare at me."

"You don't know?" she asked in surprise.

"Why, do you?" asked Matt, not wanting to be left out of the conversation.

"No," she began, and all three of them collapsed back into the sofa. At some point in the conversation, they had all sat forwards, excited at the prospect of solving the mystery. "I just thought that you might."

They fell into a silence, each of them wrapped up in their own thoughts. Suddenly, Ali leant forwards, and pulled a pencil and a notebook out of her back, and turned business-like to James.

"Right," she began, opening the book to the first clean page. James was surprised that it was so far through the book – the term had, after all, only just begun. "Are either of your parents famous?"

James was momentarily caught off-guard by her question. "What? Why?"

"Well, if we want to work out what's going on, then we need to know where to start. You don't know what it is, so if we can narrow down the search, then it's going to help."

James looked at her, surprised by how logical it sounded, and wondered why this approach hadn't occurred to him or Matt sooner. "My mum played professional quidditch?"

Ali took note of that, and then looked up at James again. "And what does your dad do?"

"Nothing exciting. He's head of the aurror office now. He joined just after the second war, helped to make some of the reformations in the ministry. It's really not as exciting as people think – he's basically an office worker."

Matt and Ali both nodded. Despite being muggle-born they both knew enough about recent wizarding history to recognise the huge impact that the war had had, and to understand what an 'aurror' was. "Does your mum still play quidditch?"

"No, she's a correspondent for the Prophet now."

"Hmm," Ali looked down at her notes, and then put her book and pencil away.

"What now?" asked Matt.

"Now, we research."

* * *

><p>Teddy watched the three youngsters from across the room. They seemed to be plotting something.<p>

His brow furrowed as he considered the possibility that they were up to something, but he discounted the idea. They didn't have the air of mischief around them that one would associate with frivolity, just a kind of grim determination.

_In fact_, he realised looking at James, _I recognise that look._

It was the one that had adorned his face for much of his first year, before he'd plucked up the courage to talk to someone about his suspicions. He watched as they rose from the sofa, and parted ways, heading up to their respective dormitories.

Teddy couldn't deny the fact that he was worried about James – the news had hit him hard enough, and Harry wasn't even his father.

Biting his lip, he debated whether or not to let Harry know, but he decided to leave it. He'd let him know if it appeared that James was upset over anything. Looking toward the point where James had disappeared from view, he pondered the possible outcomes of the situation. _I really hope he doesn't get hurt by something he finds out…_


	8. Chapter Seven

The early mornings had finally taken their toll on James, and so on Tuesday morning he and Matt only just managed to beat the post owls to breakfast. _However_, James noted, _this was probably a good thing as it meant that the other people in school had less time to stare at him_.

As they started in on their mountainous breakfasts – despite arriving later , there was still plenty of food, as they had arrived earlier than many of the older students – James was pleasantly surprised when Horatio landed on the table before the two boys. He hadn't really expected his owl to be as fast as the man had promised, but he wasn't going to complain about the fact.

Leaning forwards to untie his letter from the owl's leg, he subconsciously offered him a bit of bacon from his plate, a habit he had picked up from his father. He also noted, with some surprise that there was a package attached – he didn't think he'd forgotten anything, but maybe he had.

"Who's the letter from?" asked Matt around a mouthful of toast. Victoire, sat across from the boys, rolled her eyes at him, before turning to Teddy who sat beside her, only to find that he was displaying much the same approach to eating.

"My parents, I think," responded James. Matt was apparently unimpressed by this, as he immediately returned to his breakfast, before becoming engaged in an argument with Victoire about table manners.

James simply rolled his eyes, and repressed a chuckle as Teddy jumped into the argument in Matt's defence. Unrolling the letter, he put his fork down so he could read it properly, and smiled as he recognised his mum's curly handwriting.

_Dear James,_

_We are both very of proud of you for being sorted into Gryffindor! Of course, we would have been proud of you wherever you ended up, so I don't want you to read anything into that comment that wasn't there._

James smiled fondly at his mum's attempts at impartiality. He knew it really didn't matter to her, but she would never quite be able to put aside her Gryffindor pride like his father had.

_I'm really glad that you've made friends so quickly, and I hope that you'll look out for them as well as relying on Teddy to. Just because he's older than you, it doesn't mean he should have to look out for the younger years all the time, he does have exams this year… Your father wants me to stress to you not to hesitate in making friends in other houses, or with girls. (I didn't say it because I didn't think there'd be any need to, but now that it's been raised…)_

_Anyway, I'm pleased that you've taken an interest in the wider school life already, and I'm impressed that you've been up to the trophy room to use it for its intended purpose. I hope that this means you won't be following in your father's footsteps, and using it as a convenient place to hold duels. WAIT! Hold on, I'm not condoning duelling ANYWHERE! I was just saying – never mind. If I hear you've been duelling James, I will make McGonagall look like a pushover._

James was really laughing now – he'd forgotten how much his mother could make him laugh. Noticing the change in hand, he carried on with the letter, now written by his father.

_Your mother's in a bit of a state – she rather nervous about getting the letter perfect. I told her not to worry, but what can you do? She is right though, I don't want to hear that you've been duelling._

_Now, I have something to ask you. Did you, perhaps, take something from my office back home?_

James could practically see his father raising his eyebrow, and he swallowed nervously – he really hoped his dad wasn't too cross.

_Don't worry – I'm not cross – I'm just disappointed that you did that without telling me. I'd have let you take it if you'd asked. The only reason that I didn't give it to you was because I didn't think to give it to Teddy when he left for Hogwarts in his first year, and given that, I didn't think it would be fair to give it to you…_

_However, this does bring me round neatly to the package. Ron told me where the map probably was when I mentioned it to him, and, as he very bluntly put it, "What the heck is point of one without the other?"_

_So, I decided I'd send it you – I'm sure you've worked out what it is by now – but please, _please_, do not use it to break the rules/get caught breaking the rules. I know I'm hardly one to lecture on breaking rules, but there's a difference between sneaking out after hours to visit the kitchens (I know Ron told you about them) and doing something stupid. Remember, it wouldn't just be your head on the line if you got caught breaking rules…_

_Anyway, that's about it for now. Like your mother said, we're very proud of you, and I hope that you have as good a time at Hogwarts as I did. Write soon, and let us know how your first week went._

_All our love,_

_Mum and Dad._

He stared dumfounded at the package sitting innocently before him. _It couldn't_, he thought, _it _couldn't_ be what he thought it was…_

Poking the package experimentally, he realised that it really might be the cloak – the package was distinctly squidgy, and about the right size to be the infamous garment. Chewing his lip, he debated what to do – he could open the package here, and risk letting everyone see the cloak (which somehow didn't feel like a sensible thing to do) or he could take it up to the dormitories to open, and risk feeling a fool if it wasn't the cloak.

He still hadn't reached a conclusion when Matt nudged him as he searched through his bag. Looking up, James saw a rather frustrated looking boy.

"Have you finished your breakfast?"

"Yeah, why?" asked James, not sure where this conversation was going, and still half occupied with what to do about the package – soon someone was sure to notice it sitting there unopened.

"I've left my Potions text book in the dorms; I wondered if you wanted to come up and dump your package?"

"Sure," smiled James, pleased that one problem at least was solved…

* * *

><p>In his excitement about the cloak, he had entirely overlooked the fact that neither of his parents had picked up on his subtle hints about the awards.<p>

* * *

><p>That evening found James, Matt, and Ali sat around one of the larger tables in the library. Being so early in the term, there were hardly any other students in there, so they were largely undisturbed, and free to hold their whispered conversations without anyone complaining (except Madam Pince, but she didn't really count).<p>

They were currently sifting through a large amount of school records that documented all of the note-worthy news from 1991 through to 1999. They had initially started by just looking at the records of James' dad's second year, in the hope that they would find mention as to why he and Ron had received their awards, but they had had difficulty making any sense of the records – they were of rather poor quality, lots seemed to have been omitted, and of what was there, they couldn't make much sense of, just a lot of ramblings about some chamber.

Therefore, the three friends had decided that they would just search the records for the entire time that James' parents had been at school, in the hope that they would find some mention of their names that would turn up some solid leads for them.

However, they had been unable to find anything in the three hours that they had been there, and the library would be closing in another hour. They were very close to giving up, when James' eyes fell upon not one, but two familiar names.

"Hey," he said, his voice croaking slightly where it hadn't been used in so long, "I found something."

The other two immediately gathered behind James in order to read the piece of text that he was pointing at. It was at the heading of the summary section for the school year beginning in 1994.

_The school year of 1994-1995 was host to the reinstatement of the Tri-Wizard Tournament. (For full details about the accommodations which had be made see section vi) The champions were as follows: Fleur Delacour (of Beauxbatons), Cedric Diggory (of Hogwarts) (for full details of his death see section xiv), Viktor Krum (of Durmstrang) and Harry Potter (of Hogwarts) (for full details of the selection of the second Hogwarts champion see section xiii) ..._

The document went on for many more pages, but none of them felt particularly inclined to read the formally written text. Besides, they had clearly found a lead that they could work with.

Whilst they put away the documents, James considered what he had found – he wasn't sure what to make of the fact that it might be because of his dad that everyone stared at him. He had genuinely expected it to be because of his mother – even if it wasn't because of her quidditch career, he still would have expected it to be her. He just felt that she had the more dynamic personality, that she was the one more likely to have secrets.

And then, there was the fact that one boy had _died_. Try as he might, James couldn't stop his mind returning to those words, so harshly, honestly stated. He knew that people died – he knew that many had died in the not-so-distant war – but to die in a _school competition?_ Something didn't sit right…

Returning to their seats in a contemplative silence, they set about planning what to do next.

"Did you know that your dad was part of this tournament?" asked Ali, opening her notebook.

"Well," James chewed his lip as he recalled what he knew about the competition in question, "I knew that he was part of some competition whilst he was in school – that was how he met Aunt Fleur."

Matt broke in on James' explanation. "Fleur? Like the one in the passage?"

"The same one - she married mum's oldest brother – she's Victoire, Dominique, and Louis' mum." James paused as he caught the looks of dawning comprehension on his friend's faces – it was then that he realised how much time he had spent with his family when he was younger. The fact that he had just assumed that his friends would know who Fleur was, and how she was linked to their housemates, caught him off-guard for a moment, before he pushed it aside and continued with his explanation.

"All Dad had said about the competition was that it was supposed the establish friendships and harmony with other wizarding schools, and was designed to test the participants knowledge of magic. I certainly didn't know it was so exclusive, or that it was dangerous enough that someone would die…"

He broke off, and they all paused as they contemplated where to go from here. It was clear that they needed to look further into the Tri-Wizard tournament, but how was now the question. As far as James was concerned, there was no way that they were going to be able to find out anymore without either reading more of the school report, which was, to say the least, unappealing, or asking his family, which was even less appealing.

"So," Matt said, breaking the silence that was verging on awkward, "Where do you think that we should go from here? Because I was thinking that we should have a look at the back copies of the prophet from the time – it sounds like there probably would have been quite a bit of media coverage…"

He faltered under the gaze of both James and Ali, the latter of whom wore an expression of mixed surprise that he had thought of something that had evaded her, and admiration for having thought up said solution.

"I – uh – thought it was a good idea…"

"It's a _brilliant_ idea!" exclaimed Ali, her enthusiasm renewed, "The library has an archive of all the old copies of the prophet - I saw them when we came in. We can go and start looking now." She was out of her seat before either Matt or James had really realised what she was suggesting.

"No!" shouted James, finally breaking the whispered voices that they had been using, and earning a sharp glare from Madam Pince. Dropping his voice, he carried on, albeit with less passion. "I mean, the library's closing soon, and we have no idea how long it's going to take us to find what we're looking." Catching Ali's somewhat frustrated glare – it would appear that it wasn't only James who wanted to solve the mystery now – he amended his previous statement. "We can come and search tomorrow, so long as we don't have much homework…"

"Pfft," huffed Ali, but she relented, and waited for the two boys to get up as well. "I don't care how much homework we get, I'm coming up tomorrow – I won't be able to sleep properly 'till we've solved this, not now we've started."

Flinging her bag over her shoulder, she stalked out of the library, entirely missing the amused look Matt and James shared at her expense.


	9. Chapter Eight

It was Friday before they found anything useful in the prophet archives. They knew, of course, that the prophet was a _daily_ paper, but until they started searching through the papers, they hadn't realised how many papers there would be to look through.

To say that they hadn't found anything at all would be wrong. They had, in fact, found two things that they felt were note-worthy, if not exactly helpful.

The first was the absence of a single copy of the prophet. They had found this relatively early on, as it was one of the earlier copies in the year. To further the mystery, the paper in question was the one that was supposed to contain the details of the selected champions.

"_Why do you think it's missing?" asked Matt, staring blankly at the space where the paper should have been._

"_I don't know," responded Ali, "Maybe it had something in it that they didn't want students to know about?"_

_James smiled at his friend's eagerness to find a conspiracy theory. "Or maybe they're keeping it somewhere else – after all, it should have an article about quite an important piece of the school's history."_

"_Pssh."_

The other wasn't an article in the prophet at all. It was an article from some sort of gossip magazine, which had been torn out, and placed between two papers. Given that the piece stood out so much, the three friends were confused before they even began to read it, but that was nothing compared to how they felt once they had.

"_What?" spluttered James, eyes skimming the piece again, "Just, what?" However, his eyes alighted on the author's name at the bottom, and sighed in relief. "It's okay, we can discount it. It's by Rita Skeeter."_

_What followed was a long, and painstaking conversation, where James tried to explain to his friends the numerous reasons why nothing Skeeter wrote could ever be trusted. However, Ali was not willing to discredit the article in its entirety._

"_Look, I'm not saying that there was anything going on between your dad and your aunt. It's just – well, even the most fanciful tales have some grounding in truth."_

_James opened his mouth to respond hotly, but Matt cut him off. "She's right you know. Muggles don't believe in magic, not really, but look at all the books there are about it."_

On Friday however, they found two things which aroused their suspicion. One was another missing paper – this one for the twenty-fourth of June. They would have attributed it to having been removed to be kept somewhere else, but that didn't make sense given that the papers released on the days of the First and Second Tasks had been present.

The other was something completely unexpected. In the paper for the twenty-fifth of June, they were expecting some sort of announcement about the winner of the tri-wizard cup. Instead, they found a sombre article which dominated the front page.

"_The Tri-Wizard Tournament reached its conclusion yesterday evening. However, critics of the decision to reinstate this ancient competition have been proven correct._

"_Contrary to the promises of increased safety for the participants, the tournament concluded with the death of one of the participants. Yesterday, Harry Potter, the controversial fourth champion, emerged from the maze clutching the lifeless body of his fellow Hogwarts champion, Cedric Diggory._

"_This begs the question: was the task simply too dangerous, or did the pressure of the competition push a boy, who was clearly too young to participate, too far?_

"_Yet in a further twist, Albus Dumbledore, a well-known advocate of Potter, confided to the Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, that the murder was on the command of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Critics of Dumbledore can now confirm their beliefs that the man wishes to find adversaries everywhere, and that he will stoop to unbounded lows to protect Potter._

"_Dumbledore goes on to claim that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has returned, that many who were accused, and cleared, of being his followers have returned to him, and that Potter was present for the return, yet remained unscathed. (for further details of these claims, see page nine) Has Dumbledore accepted this story on word of a fourteen year-old boy wishing to cover up his own actions, or has the story been concocted between the two? (article continues overleaf)"_

The three friends sat in silence. No matter how many times they reread the article, the words remained the same. The paper lay innocuously on the table, taunting James with its words.

James, for his part, had no words to express the confusion he was feeling. On the one hand, he refused to accept the accusation that his father was a liar, but on the other hand, he couldn't wrap his head around the idea that his father was present for the return of Voldemort, and that he escaped unharmed.

There was only one thing that he was certain of: his father was not a killer.

"What, er," began Matt in a vague attempt at breaking the awkwardness, "Did you know about any of this?"

One look at James' face told him all that he needed to know. Ignoring her friend's obvious irritation, Ali carried on.

"But had any of your family ever indicated any sort of link to Riddle?" she asked, refusing to let the issue drop.

"No!" snapped James. He took a deep breath, and pinched the bridge of his nose, as he willed himself to calm down – his friends were just trying to help him. "No more so than anyone else who was alive at the same time as him."

The three sat in silence for what felt like hours before Ali voiced the conclusion that they couldn't fail but reach.

"I think there is. A sort of link, I mean. Between Riddle and your dad, at least…"


	10. Chapter Nine

Come Saturday morning, James had calmed down, and had succeeded in accepting that it looked like his dad was the reason why everyone stared at him. However, he still hadn't come to terms with the implications of the prophet article that they had found the previous evening.

He was mulling all of these thoughts as he sat at breakfast with Matt and Ali. They were eating in relative silence as they each mused on their discovery, and what the best way to move forwards was. Finally, James spoke up.

"Look guys," he said, drawing their attention, "I'm really sorry I snapped at you last night." He looked guiltily down at his hands, and was shocked when Matt snorted.

"You haven't been fretting over that have you?" he asked, amusement colouring his voice.

"Um."

"Because it's fine. We get it – you were surprised, and hurt, by the accusations the paper made about your dad. You should have seen me after I got my Hogwarts letter." He broke off, chuckling at the memory.

James looked up into the earnest faces of his friends, and found only honesty there. Smiling to himself, he turned back to his breakfast.

"I'm being silly, aren't I?"

However, what the response would have been was lost, as a body flung itself down onto the bench between Matt and James.

Turning to the new arrival, James' eyebrows rose as he recognised the hufflepuff. Glancing at Matt and Ali questioningly, he saw that they too wore similar expressions to his. He also noted that Michael and Daniel were watching with some amusement from where they sat just down from the three friends.

Turning back to Emily, James prepared himself from the verbal barrage that he was sure would follow. Sure enough, it was only moments before her mouth opened.

"Look, I'm really sorry if I annoyed you, or came across too enthusiastically. I'm all too aware that I can be a bit intimidating at times."

James' eyebrows, if possible, rose even higher. Emily either didn't notice this, or she chose to ignore it, and carried on.

"It's just, I was so excited to meet you. It's awesome that one of _Harry Potter's_ children is my age, and I'd always hoped that we could be friends…" She broke off, looking a bit embarrassed at her admission. "I guess what I'm trying to say is, well, I really look up to your dad. He's such a good role model."

"Er," James stared at the girl in puzzlement. Sure, his dad was _his_ role model, but why would he be anyone else's, let alone a complete stranger's? Why would anyone else know him enough to make him out as a role model? "Okay?"

Emily smiled, and patted James' hand, as though he had said exactly what she wanted to hear. "So, tell me. What's it like having _Harry Potter_ as your dad?"

James glanced at his friends in panic – what he was supposed to say to _that_? They, apparently, didn't know either. Matt just shrugged, and returned to his third helping of breakfast, whereas Ali looked just as confused as James, but he could tell, from the way she was staring at nothing in particular, that she was trying to put all of the pieces together in her mind.

Realising he was on his own in this one, he turned back to the eager girl before him. "Um, it's good? He's a very good father?" He didn't really know what else to say, given that he didn't really understand what she was asking him.

"Yes, but what's it really like? What's it like hearing all the stories first hand?"

"The stories?" James was beyond confused now; was she asking about his dad's days as an aurror?

Emily was looking at him dubiously, as though she were questioning his sanity. However, both we saved from saying anything, when a giggling hufflepuff came and dragged Emily away. James stared blankly as Emily wiggled her fingers at him, before disappearing off with her friend, their giggles carrying clearly across the hall.

He turned back to his friends, his face blank, and his mind even more so. "Ungh?"

Matt snorted, and clapped James on the back. "I always knew you were the eloquent sort," he smiled. James couldn't help but join in with the laughter, and soon Ali followed suit.

It felt good to laugh. James hadn't realised how much tension had built up over the week as they searched for answers, and it was good to just let go. Soon the laughter progressed beyond what was rational, and Michael and Daniel exchanged a worried glance at the hysteria that had erupted before them.

It was at least five minutes before the three had calmed down enough to do anything other than slump helplessly onto the table, and wait for their mirth to pass.

Taking a deep breath, and wiping the tears from her eyes, Ali turned to James. "What was that all about then?"

He paused, trying to find something to say in response, but in the end, he just gave up, and shrugged.

"Wait," said Daniel, catching their attention, "You really don't know do you? I thought you were just messing about, but…"

James stared incredulously at his dorm mate – clearly he was supposed to be well aware of the reason why everyone knew him, which just begged the question: why?

"What is it?" he asked desperately, leaning towards the other boy.

Daniel looked at him dubiously. He had thought that James was just a really down-to-earth kind of guy; the idea that he really didn't know hadn't occurred to him until now. He didn't want to say anything – there could be a very good reason why no one had ever told him. Turning to his friend who sat beside him, he widened his eyes in a silent plea for help.

"It doesn't matter," said Michael. Like Ali, he was perceptive, and had noticed that his three classmates were spending _much_ more time in the library than their homework warranted. "I'm sure you'll figure it out soon enough."

"What? No, wait!" cried James as the two friends took their leave of the breakfast table in order to head out and find something to do for the day. He turned back to his friends, despondency clear on his face.

Ali, remembering his reaction on Monday lunch, repressed the urge to hug the boy before her – he looked like he might break down at any moment. Instead, she offered the only consolation that would really help.

"Library?"

* * *

><p>Matt chewed his lip nervously as he reread the article in the prophet he was reading. He should tell James about it, but he couldn't quite bring himself to. When they had arrived at the library, they had decided to split up, and each look at a different time frame: James was skimming the main headlines of the year preceding the Tri-Wizard Tournament, Ali was checking through the prophets for the Tri-Wizard year again, and Matt was working his way through the copies following James' dad's fourth year, starting with the summer.<p>

However, he had yet to raise any of the things he'd found because, well, James could be a temperamental to say the least. And there was an overarching theme arising in the papers.

Matt's brow furrowed as he flipped through another week's worth of papers, all of them showing more of the same sort of thing. The prophet, it would seem, had decided that Voldemort had _not_ returned. Therefore, it had decided that the best way to make people accept this was to lay claims against the sanity and integrity of both James' dad, and Dumbledore.

And this was what was confusing Matt so much. Sure, he knew enough about Dumbledore to know that questioning _his_ integrity was a wise political move, if you wanted to assert yourself as the 'top dog'. But to question the integrity of a fourteen year-old school boy? What was that going to achieve?

The metallic tang of blood drew him out of his trance as he realised that he had chewed through the skin of his lip. Sighing, he closed the papers before him, and looked up at the other two.

Ali was deeply absorbed in an article that they had already read – Matt assumed that she was searching for clues that they might have missed before. James on the other hand, was flipping idly through papers. Unlike Matt and Ali, there seemed to be no method to the way that James was flipping through the papers.

Matt watched his friend closely as he deliberated how to phrase what he needed to tell him. Taking a deep breath, he decided to just bite the bullet, and go for it.

"James," he said, breaking the silence of a Saturday morning in the library. "I found some, er, articles about your dad."

James' head immediately snapped up, followed closely by Ali's. "What do they say?"

"It's not very nice," Matt said tentatively. James' eyes narrowed dangerously, and Matt, registering the look, pushed the paper he was reading to him. He watched apprehensively as two pairs of eyes slid across the page.

"Hmm," said Ali, finishing the article first, "It would seem that the prophet continued their line of argument following Diggory's death."

"But why?" responded Matt, glancing at James who was staring listlessly at the page before him. Finally, the other boy spoke up.

"Who cares? Wondering about why the prophet does what it does could take forever, and it's not going to answer our questions." Matt and Ali stared at James in surprise, but he ignored them and continued flipping through papers at random.

That is, until one particular paper caught his eye. If his blasé attitude had been concerning, that was nothing compared to how the other two felt when their companion simply froze. After a moment or two of worrying silence, he let out an angry hiss.

"What?"

"What is it?" asked Matt in alarm. He was answered by a replication of his earlier actions when the paper was flung at his chest.

Spreading it out on the table, Ali came and sat beside him, and together they read the article which dominated the front page.

*"_BLACK STILL AT LARGE_

"_Sirius Black, possibly the most infamous prisoner ever to be held in Azkaban fortress, is still eluding capture, the Ministry of Magic confirmed today._

"'_We are doing all we can to recapture Black,' said the Minster for Magic, Cornelius Fudge, this morning, 'and we beg the magical community to remain calm.'_

"_Fudge has been criticised by some members of the International Federation of Warlocks for informing the Muggle Prime Minister of the crisis._

"'_Well, really, I had to, don't you know,' said an irritable Fudge. 'Black is mad. He's a danger to anyone who crosses him, magic or Muggle. I have the Prime Minister's assurance that he will not breathe a word of Black's true identity to anyone. And let's face it – who'd believe him if he did?'_

"_While Muggles have been told that Black is carrying a gun (a kind of metal wand which Muggles use to kill each other), the magical community lives in fear of a massacre like that of twelve years ago, when Black murdered thirteen people with a single curse."_

Matt looked up from the article, and met Ali's confused gaze.

"What does this have to do with anything though?" she asked.

Matt, however, ignored her, and looked over at a seething James. "But didn't you say that Sirius Black was your dad's godfather? The one you were named for?"

James simply nodded tersely, and continued to glare at the table.

"Your parents know this man?" asked Ali, shocked.

"Yes," James responded. "He was like a father to Dad." He stopped, looking troubled. "They must have known about this though. How could they not?"

Ali, for once, was at a loss to say anything. She looked to Matt, hoping he would have some sort of insight. Matt, in turn, looked at James, and realised that his friend wasn't angry anymore, he was just confused and with that confusion came sadness.

"James," Matt began, but he was cut off.

"They lied to me. They said he was a good man. When I asked who I was named after, they told me I was named after two men who fell fighting against Voldemort. Two good men." There was a catch in James' voice, a vulnerability. In that moment, it was more apparent than ever that these children were exactly that. They were still children, and yet here was James, learning that everything he had ever known to be true may, in fact, be a mask.

James looked up, and met Matt's gaze, and Matt saw the tears starting to form in the corners of his friends eyes. In that instant, something clicked in Matt's mind, and he felt a sense of certainty. It was something that he would always have; some people would simply say it was intuition, or being able to read a situation well, but to Matt, and those who knew him best, it was something more.

In a calm, level voice, Matt made his first promise to James. "He was innocent."

* * *

><p>* Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, pages 33-34<p>

**AN:** Sorry, this is completely irrelevant to the story, but is anyone else having trouble seeing their traffic for the past few days? Thanks.


	11. Chapter Ten

Sunday arrived much sooner than James would have liked. Following the revelation made yesterday, he had sent an angry letter to his parents, yet had regretted it almost as soon as he had done so. Matt had told him that he was sure that there had been a misunderstanding somewhere along the line, but James, in his anger, was unwilling to listen to reason, and sent the letter anyway.

Since sending the letter off after dinner he had been in his bed, and had no intention of leaving its confines anytime soon. He was sulking, and being somewhat unreasonable, but he didn't care.

Huffing, he buried his head under his pillow as sunlight streamed through the not quite opaque curtains that he had drawn around his bed. He groaned in frustration as he realised that his parents had probably received his letter by now. He could almost imagine it happening.

"_Oh! We've got a letter from James!" his mum would exclaim before heading off to find his dad so they could read it together in that overwhelming couple-y way they had._

_She would find him in the kitchen, starting to prepare breakfast, and they would open the letter to see what James had written._

And what would they find? James squeezed his eyes shut in embarrassment.

_What the HELL! You named me after a murderer? And then you LIED about it? Told me he was a good man?_

_Who on EARTH do you think you are? Lying to your CHILDREN!_

_Don't even bother writing back. I know this isn't the only thing you've lied to me about._

_James._

He cringed into his mattress as he realised the implications of his actions, and how his parents would react. His mum would cry – she cried at everything – and his dad would… Well, he wasn't sure how his dad would react, but he knew it would be bad, whatever it was. Because James had let him down, and he was James' role model.

* * *

><p>Matt stared at the only bed that still had an occupant in it. The curtains were drawn round the bed in what was clearly a 'Do Not Disturb' manner. <em>But<em>, he thought, _he's been in there ages. And I'm worried about him. He didn't take his discovery yesterday well._

Chewing his already damaged lip, he made a decision. Stepping towards the bed, he grabbed the curtain in one hand, and pulled.

* * *

><p>James had not been happy at being disturbed, but Matt had been persistent, and eventually his persistence won out over James' anger.<p>

They had talked for a long time, and by the end of their conversation, Matt knew all about James' fears, worries, and insecurities regarding his family. He discovered that there was so much more than he realised brewing beneath the surface in his friend. And any doubts that there might have been regarding the depth of their friendship were entirely dispelled.

James emerged from the bathroom, having finally agreed that he really did need to get up. He smiled when he saw Matt lying across his bed, trying desperately to make things float – he had difficulty with the spell in charms, and Flitwick has made him promise that he would practice in his spare time.

"I think we've been obsessing over our research a bit," said James, announcing his return. "I think we need to find a distraction."

Matt rolled over to face his best friend, and saw the twinkle that was present in his eyes.

"Whatever were you thinking?" he asked, a smile spreading across his face to match that of the other boy.

"Well," said James, "I have this map…"

* * *

><p>And so James found himself lying under a willow tree with his two closest friends – just as countless generations before them had – telling the story of four friends who were infamous under their pseudonyms, in the days before their innocence was corrupted, and their friendship broken.<p>

"Wow," said Ali, rolling over onto her back, and holding the map above her face. "This is _incredible_! Imagine all the mischief you could cause with it."

"I rather think that that's the point," smiled Matt from the other side of James, who sat propped up against the tree between them.

There was a comfortable silence between the friends, who were all feeling rather tired after the day they had spent exploring the castle. They had found themselves out in the grounds at some point after lunch, and had decided to spend as long as possible enjoying the last of the summer sunshine.

"This has been good," said James as he looked out across the lake, "It's been nice to just relax."

"Hmm, I agree," responded Matt. Ali remained absorbed in her perusal of the map. "Though it's interesting and all that, the research, there's something to be said for being lazy too." He flashed a crooked grin at James, who leant over and thumped him in response.

"We've hardly been lazy today – think of all the walking we've done!"

Matt just laughed, and turned his face to the sun. Once more the friends fell into silence, and James found himself running everything he had learnt through his head again.

Trying to work out what was going on was like a big puzzle, but harder. It was as though it were several puzzles, and you had to sort through the pieces to find what was relevant and what wasn't. And at the moment, it seemed that none of the pieces fit together at all. It was like there was some hidden clue running through all of the pieces, almost tangible, tantalisingly close, and yet just out of James' reach.

There were the things he had already known before he left for Hogwarts, and then there were the things he had learnt about them.

He knew his dad had been in some cross-school competition. But he hadn't known that it was so dangerous, or of so much interest to the media.

He knew that he was partly named after Sirius Black. He thought he knew that he was a good man, who died fighting against Voldemort. But he hadn't known that the man was a murderer.

He knew that Aunt Hermione was one of his dad's best friends. He hadn't known that anything had ever happened that could have even _hinted_ at them being more than that.

And then there were the things that he had learnt.

He hadn't known that his dad had ever done anything of much note, much less that he had been awarded for 'Services to the School' when he was only a year older than James was now.

He hadn't known that the papers had had such an obsession with his dad, or that there was any reason for them to make him out to be a liar.

He hadn't known that there was some link between his dad and Voldemort.

That was the thing, the main point. That was what everything seemed to want to come back to. Everything seemed to link back to Riddle. But, why? James ran everything he knew about him through his mind again.

He was an evil man, obsessed with power and gaining immortality. And he had a vendetta against muggleborns, and anyone whose blood was deemed 'impure'. He thought himself superior to them, a Slytherin through and through.

He had first begun to rise to power around fifty years ago, and a fierce war had been fought against him. Many innocent people died, yet it seemed impossible that he should be defeated. The wizarding world was in terror.

And then, somehow, he disappeared. Some people thought he was dead, but there were those who disagreed. The world returned to normal, and there was relative peace for around fifteen years.

Then, he returned, and the second war began. Like the first time round, there was fear, and numerous deaths. This war culminated in the Battle of Hogwarts, when he was finally defeated. That was sixteen years ago, during his dad's seventh year, and his mum's sixth. Since then, there had been peace.

James furrowed his brow. This wasn't answering any of his questions – what else did he know?

Voldemort's followers called themselves the 'Death Eaters'. After the first war, many were imprisoned, but some claimed innocence, saying that they had been controlled. When Riddle returned, many went back to his side, and those who were imprisoned were freed.

There were organisations that opposed him. Dumbledore set up the Order of the Phoenix, to which many of his older relatives belonged. Then there was Dumbledore's Army, the 'teenage gang' inside Hogwarts, which rebelled against the Death Eater control that the school experienced during Riddle's final year of power.

Many people lost relatives in the wars, and almost everyone knew someone who had died. When he was finally defeated, the Ministry had difficulty maintaining the secrecy of the wizarding world from the muggles, such was the celebration that occurred.

After the war, there was a re-haul of the Ministry, under the leadership of Kingsley Shacklebolt. One of the biggest changes occurred in the aurror department, who had the responsibility of rounding up the remaining Death Eaters. His dad, Uncle Ron, and Professor Longbottom had been a part of this, but only his father had remained on after its completion.

He knew that neither his father, nor Aunt Hermione, nor Uncle Ron had returned to school in their seventh year. His aunt because of her 'blood status', his uncle because of a case of spattergroit, and his father because, because…

James realised that he didn't actually know why his dad hadn't returned to Hogwarts in that year, and he could add that to the growing list of things he didn't know about his father.

His father had told him that he got his scar on his forehead when his parents died, but he didn't know how. His father had somehow been allowed to join, and eventually become head of, the aurror department without having any of the necessary qualifications. He was missing a whole year of his life – James never heard any stories about his year when he didn't go to school. In fact, he was supposed to have some exciting stories, which James certainly didn't know anything about. Then there was the mysterious award, and the newspaper articles, and the fact that people seemed to know who he was. It just didn't make any sense.

He pulled himself up off the floor, and turned to his still seated friends. Somehow, his father was linked to the bigger picture, to Voldemort, but how was still remaining elusive. He wanted to know why – of course he did – but he had come to realise, as he sat beneath the willow, he couldn't let his curiosity consume him.

"I think we need to let this go."

* * *

><p>Teddy glanced down at the piece of paper for the umpteenth time, then looked up as the portrait hole swung open to reveal James and his two friends entering. Hiding the paper behind his back, he watched warily until he was sure that they wouldn't come and sit with him.<p>

Taking the paper from behind his back, he looked down at the words he already knew by heart once more.

_Dear Teddy,_

_I'm worried about James. I think his curiosity has been caught, much like yours in your first year. However, I don't think he's going to do the simple thing, and ask outright._

_I'm not telling you to do anything, and I think that we should just leave him to carry on with whatever he's up to at the minute, but please can you keep an eye on him for me? Let me know if he seems out of character, or does anything odd at all? Please?_

_Love, _

_Harry._

Teddy looked up at the boy in question, just in time to catch him laughing enthusiastically at something someone had said. He knew he would watch out for him, even though he seemed to fine, at the moment at least, as much for himself as for Harry.


	12. Chapter Eleven

The following Saturday found the three friends, yet again in the library. However, it was worth noting that they were in considerably better spirits than they had been last Saturday. This was as a result of several things.

The first of which was a letter that James had received on Monday morning during had received an envelope containing two pieces of paper. One was a brief note from his father apologising for any hurt the misunderstanding between them had caused, which had, yet again, triggered his guilt reflexes, and the other was a copy of an article from the prophet printed at the beginning of his father's sixth year. The article was short, but honest, and detailed both Sirius Black's death, and innocence, and offering an apology to his friends and family.

Though the response filled James with a hollow sort of victory, it had alleviated the oppressive guilt he had felt sense sending the letter, and had reinforced his conviction that they needed to lessen their relentless search.

As a result of this, they hadn't spent any time in the library since last Saturday, and had, instead, spent their time enjoying themselves (as well as doing their school work of course). The week had consisted of sneaky trips to the kitchens, sneaking out of their dorms under the cover of the invisibility cloak, and even a visit to see Hagrid.

They had decided therefore, that they were liable to spend some time in the library. They didn't have any work to do, and they hadn't allowed the mystery of James' dad to consume their lives. So they headed up to the library, and gathered around the table which they had successfully claimed as _theirs _during the first week of school.

* * *

><p>James had his chin resting on his hands, Matt was slumped across the table looking suspiciously like he was asleep, and Ali was drawing patterns up her arm with a biro. They had arrived at the library, full of good intentions, and the (misguided) intention of pulling out some copies of the prophet, and having the mystery solve itself before their very eyes.<p>

In reality, they had arrived at the library, taken one look at the vast number of copies of the prophet, and collapsed at their table.

"What are we going to do, then?" asked James, lifting his chin from his hands, and sitting up a little straighter, "Because if we're going to do nothing, I'd really rather go somewhere with comfier chairs…"

Matt snorted, and he too sat, dispelling the illusion of sleep. "Well, I don't really fancy going through all of those copies of the prophet. Is there anything we can look at the might be in an actual book?"

Ali looked at Matt with raised eyebrows.

"What?" he asked, "I do read you know." He looked to James for support.

"He does," said James, wrinkling his nose, "He's rarely without one in the dorms. Boring, but there you are."

"So," said Matt with renewed enthusiasm, "Books. Where shall we start?"

"Well," said Ali, finally speaking up, "We think there's a link between James' dad and Voldemort." She broke off, and began to twirl a lock of scarlet hair around her finger. James' eyes narrowed – that was a sign that she feeling anxious. "How about, well, the war?"

There was a silence between the three, broken only by the sounds of the other library users, chairs squeaking, pages being turned, and other whispered conversations full of indistinct words. The war was, without question, a sore point in recent history. It was almost a taboo, such was the avoidance that surrounded it. People were unwilling to bring it into conversation, as it was impossible to discuss it without reliving the losses that it had entailed. As a result of this, the books on the subject were scarce, and often lacked any real detail.

Yet, it was the most logical place to start. Though James was unsure whether the library would even have any books about it, he had to admit that if they wanted to uncover new leads, then they might have to look into things which they would rather not. If they wanted to establish what this link between Voldemort and his father was, then the best way to do this would be to try and follow Voldemort's life back until they found said link.

Finally, James looked up from his hands, and found that both Matt and Ali were waiting for him to respond. _Of course_, he realised belatedly_, she wasn't asking both of us, just me. Neither Matt nor Ali have lost family in the wars, she was making sure I was okay with it. She knew, like me, that this was the place to start, she was just looking out for me_. He smiled at his friend's thoughtfulness, and nodded absently.

"I agree, but do you think there will be any books about it here?"

"We can't know until we look," responded Matt, "I think we should split up, because if there are any, they'll probably be spread over a few categories…"

As it turned out, there weren't any books about Voldemort in the library at all. When they had been unable to find any themselves, Ali had plucked up the courage to ask Madam Pince.

"_Excuse me, Madam," Ali began, nervously approaching the fearsome woman, "But I was wondering whether there were any books about Lord Voldemort?"_

_The woman looked down at her suspiciously. Luckily, she had come alone, otherwise the librarian might have been even less forthcoming. "Why do you want to know?"_

"_Well, you see," said Ali, throwing herself into her role with abandon, "I'm muggle-born, and people keep mentioning him. So I wanted to find out who he was, but I didn't want to show my ignorance by asking anyone." She looked up at Madam Pince with wide, hopeful eyes. The woman softened somewhat – she knew what it felt like to be somewhat of an outcast, seeking refuge in the written word._

"_If afraid there aren't any in the general library. Professor McGonagall felt it prudent to remove them from the main library, in case they gave anyone misguided ideas, or some such. They are kept separately so that the NEWT Defence Against the Dark Arts students can use them for reference in their work." She paused, and looked down at the girl before her. "You can see them, but you need to get written permission from the headmistress first, and she only grants that in exceptional circumstances. I'm sorry."_

Deterred by their discovery, they had retreated to the common room, unable to head out into the grounds because of the bad weather that had finally arrived.

"There's no way we'll get permission," said Matt voicing what they were all thinking.

"No," agreed James.

"So what are we going to do?" asked Ali, looking desperately at the two boys. It was clear that James had lost interest in the mystery now that people had stopped staring at him, presumably because they had finally gotten used to his presence in the school. That wasn't to say that people didn't _watch_ him still, but there was none of the open staring that had followed him everywhere when he had first arrived. She wasn't sure how Matt felt about the whole situation, but she just hoped that if she could keep him interested he would help her to solve what had become a burning fascination in her life.

James looked at his friend, and read the desperation in her face. "Ali," he said gently, "I really do think it's time to let it go. What are we going to achieve by pursuing it so relentlessly?"

Ali frowned, and looked away. Unbeknownst to James, Matt also frowned. Though he had none of the burning desire to follow it up as Ali, he had a niggling feeling that this was important, that they shouldn't give up just yet.

* * *

><p>Later that evening, Ali had finally given up on trying to rally the boys' enthusiasm, and had returned to her copy of <em>The Tales of Beedle the Bard. <em>James was, yet again, discussing quidditch with Michael and Daniel.

Matt meanwhile, who had quickly bored of yet more talk of a sport he had never seen, was reading that day's copy of the prophet. Whilst he objected to reading through countless back copies, he had no problem with keeping up with current affairs – he was, in fact, rather fond of doing so, a habit he had taken from his mother.

He had long since finished with the main articles, and the moving pictures no longer interested him enough to hold his attention for long, and so he was now reading he was now reading his way through the adverts in the mid pages. They weren't especially interesting, but then nor was talk of quidditch.

Turning the page, his eyes fell upon one particular advert.

_SALE!_

_Hugely reduced prices on_

_Rita Skeeter's best-selling biographies:_

Armando Dippet: Master or Moron?

The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore

Snape: Scoundrel or Saint?

Harry Potter: The Boy Who Lived

_Contact…_

Matt's attention wavered as the advert continued on, his eyes kept returning to the final book. Chewing his lip, he glanced over at James. James had made it clear that he didn't trust Rita Skeeter, nor was he interested in continuing the search. But Matt wasn't so sure: yes, Skeeter might be a liar, but what he had said was true – even the most extraordinary tales have some founding in truth.

Turing his gaze from James to Ali, he contemplated telling her instead – her enthusiasm was clear, and she would definitely offer to help, but did she have the patience to sort through the potential lies, and the glimmers of truth? Matt wasn't so sure.

He didn't have to tell either of them – he could just do this himself, read the book, see if it had anything in it. If he found anything he could tell them after, and, if he really needed to, he could always ask Ali to help corroborate anything he found.

Glancing at the clock, he saw he still had half an hour until curfew. Releasing his lip from his teeth, he stood up, folding the paper under his arm. James glanced across at him, and raised an eyebrow questioningly.

"I'm just going to the owlery," said Matt, thinking fast, "I've just remembered – I have a letter I want to send to mum."

"Do you want me to come?"

"No, you're okay James. I'll only be a couple of minutes."


	13. Chapter Twelve

The book arrived for Matt on the following Thursday morning. He had stuck to his original decision, and hadn't mentioned it to either James or Ali, and so awkwardness ensued as he tried to conceal it from his friends.

"Hey, Matt," asked James, noticing his friend's post, "What've you got there?"

"Uh," said Matt, "It's just a book I asked Mum to send me when I wrote home to her."

"Oh," said James, immediately returning to his breakfast. Ali, however, was not as easily dissuaded as James, the mention of a book piquing her interest.

"What is it?" she asked, turning her full attention to Matt.

Matt frowned; he had forgotten that Ali was also from a muggle background, and so would most likely know whatever book he picked. Chewing his lip, he tried desperately to come up with something that wouldn't interest her. In a flash of inspiration, he recalled a book she had been arguing about with one of the other Gryffindor girls the previous evening – luckily for Matt, she had been on the side of the argument condemning said book.

"Pride and Prejudice," said Matt. However the sense of victory at finding a solution for his predicament was soon followed by one of regret as he registered the peculiar look he was receiving in response. Deciding to stick to his guns, he shrugged half-apologetically as he stood up from the table, and hurried off to the dormitories to hide the book.

* * *

><p>Whereas James was completely uninterested in Matt's sudden obsession with 'Pride and Prejudice', Ali was convinced he was up to something. Regardless of what he might say, she didn't really believe that that was the book which he had specifically asked his mum to send, nor could she imagine that anyone could be that interested in it. Though James might not have noticed it, Ali had hardly failed to note that her friend often brushed them off in favour of reading, and she suspected that the book which he was reading was the one he had received in the post.<p>

Over the following weeks, the three friend's interest in the mystery that surrounded James' dad had waned considerably – or rather, their active pursuit of the mystery had waned. It was still fixed prominently in Ali's thoughts, and she often contemplated it when she had nothing else to do. But wherever they turned, they were met with dead ends, and so the three friends had, for all intents and purposes, given up (for now, at least).

Instead, they now spent their days like every other first year at Hogwarts: they attended lessons during the day, they rushed their homework the night before it was due in, and they spent every second of free-time immersing themselves in the magical world that they were now part of.

James, Matt and Ali were now becoming very familiar with the secret passages within the school, and they were putting them to good use, often sneaking out to the kitchens after hours, or simply sneaking out after hours. In accordance to James' dad's wishes, the cloak went with them, and thanks to this, and the map, they had yet to be caught during one of their night-time excursions.

That wasn't, however, to say that they hadn't been on the receiving end of a detention. James had, following in the footsteps of his family, been the first to receive a detention from a particularly irate Professor Daly after he slipped a colour changing charm (courtesy of his Uncle George) into one of the Ravenclaw's potions during class. The activity, in itself, had been innocent enough, but James had not quite thought out the consequences – said Ravenclaw had, instead of seeking help, tried to fix the potion themselves, resulting in a rather impressive, though luckily harmless, explosion.

Since then, and a few more detentions, James had decided to think his pranks through more thoroughly, and as a result they were less frequent, but he was getting caught considerably less, and they were becoming far more successful.

Matt had also experience his fair share of detentions, usually when he was caught red-handed mid-prank with James, and yet Ali had only a few to her name. When James brought this up after being caught executing his latest prank, she had simply smiled benignly, and told him to follow his dad's advice and _not get caught_.

* * *

><p>Matt had finished the biography within a week of receiving it, yet it had left him with more questions than he had to begin with. On the one hand, if he took it at face value, then it did in fact, explain everything, but on the other hand, that required him to take a leap of faith, and accept it all as the truth. And so, Matt decided that he would re-read it, but this time he would make notes in the margin, highlight key parts, and so forth.<p>

However, four weeks later, he was regretting his decision to do so. He was forced to read the book only when alone, and so he could often be found reading into the small hours of the morning. As a result of this, he was constantly tired, and only just managing to maintain his academic performance. He was surprised that his friends hadn't called him out; he was sure that there was something more hidden behind the suspicious glances he often caught Ali directing at him.

Shaking his head to clear the thoughts, he looked down at the book sitting closed on the table before him - he had finally finished going through it again. This was one of the rare occasions when he was able to do so, and so he was sat in the library during the first Saturday of half-term making the most of the fact that James and Ali had managed to land themselves in detention after being caught out after hours by Filch.

Picking the book back up, he flicked though it absently as he reviewed everything that he had learnt from it. Setting it down again, he pulled his pen and some parchment from his bag, and began to make a list of the things which he had discovered from Skeeter's biography.

_1. When Harry Potter was about one, Voldemort tried to kill him, but he was unable to. This is how: Harry's parents died, Voldemort was defeated (the first time), Harry got his scar._

_2. Harry Potter was the one to finally kill Voldemort in the battle of Hogwarts._

_3. During the year when he was missing, he was travelling round the world, visiting places of important magical history, and meeting Witches and Wizards who knew pieces of information about his destiny, so that he could learn what he needed to know in order to embrace it. Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley went with him._

_4. This destiny was to destroy the evil in the world: this manifested itself as having to destroy Voldemort._

_5. This destiny was Harry Potter's because he is their heir of all of the Hogwart's founders. This was revealed in many ways through his life:_

_i. Voldemort couldn't kill him_

_ii. He is a parsel-mouth – like Salazar Slytherin_

_iii. He was able to summon to sword of Gryffindor, and demonstrated his bravery throughout his life_

_iv. He showed Hufflepuff's acceptance in the way he dealt with the bad representation the press gave him_

_v. He was chosen as a tri-wizard champion, despite his age, because of his clear worthiness_

_vi. He showed abilities above and beyond what could be expected of people his age_

_vii. He possessed knowledge that no-one else knew – as shown in his final duel with Voldemort_

_viii. He is the only survivor of the killing curse_

_6. He has been famous since he was a child – everyone in the wizarding world knows who he is_

Matt frowned as he re-read the last point on his list, _everyone, it seemed, but his family. _He chewed his lip as he contemplated the absurdity of what he had written. To suggest that James' dad was the heir of all four founders of the school – how was that even possible? Yet Rita Skeeter had written about it in what was a rather convincing manner, he couldn't dispute the fact that she did back up her points (whether her sources were valid was another matter). And it did answer the questions the three friends had.

Putting the book and the paper back in his bag, Matt stood and turned to return to the Gryffindor common room. If he wanted to check the validity of Skeeter's claims, then he was going to need some help.

* * *

><p>Matt's foot bounced erratically as he waited for James and Ali to return from their detention. He had tried to do some of his holiday work, but he had found himself unable to concentrate on anything other than the portrait hole.<p>

His attention snapped back into focus as he heard the frame swing open, and he swept his gaze up to meet Ali. Immediately upon noticing that she was alone, he was on his feet, and moving towards her.

"What – Matt, are you okay?" she asked, noticing the somewhat panicked look that he was giving her.

Ignoring her, he steered her back out of the common room, and into the nearest empty classroom, so that they could talk in private. Motioning for her to sit down, he pulled a chair out so that he was sat across the desk from her. Without saying anything, he placed the biography face up between them.

"No way!" she breathed, picking it up, and flipping through the pages as Matt had done countless times before. "What does it say?"

Pulling his list from his bag next, Matt took a deep breath as he began to recount everything that he had learnt.

* * *

><p>Ali sat in awed silence staring blankly at Matt, not quite registering that he had finished speaking. Groaning in frustration, Matt waved a hand in front of her face. "Hello-o?"<p>

Ali started, and turned to face. "But, it's ridiculous! Insane! It's – it's just…"

"Exactly," said Matt, leaning back in his chair, "But is it _true_?"

Ali mimicked his pose, and ran her hands through her hair, as she tried to process the onslaught of information logically. It _was_ ridiculous, and yet, there was something in the story. There was definitely something about James' dad, and she wasn't sure that it _wasn't_ anything less than this. What the book claimed was _absurd, improbable_, but not _impossible_.

Raising her face to Matt, she shrugged, her uncertainty showing in her eyes. "I don't know. It's time we asked someone about it."

Matt looked at his friend, and considered who they should ask, who was likely to know, and nodded. Rising from his chair, he grabbed the book, and the paper, not bothering to put them back in his bag. Reaching the door, and holding it open for Ali, he froze as he realised what they had overlooked in their excitement at potentially solving the mystery. Ali, noticing his sudden stillness, turned to look at him questioningly.

"We need to tell James first."


	14. Chapter Thirteen

As luck would have it, as Matt and Ali rounded the corner to return to the common room, they ran straight into James.

"Hey, where have you been?" he exclaimed, unable to keep the petulant tone from his voice. Since returning from detention, he had been searching for Matt and Ali who had, apparently, disappeared from the face of the earth.

"Well," said Ali, looking at her friend. Pausing, she turned to Matt – this was, after all, all his hard work. James followed Ali's gaze, and turned to look at his best friend expectantly.

Wordlessly, Matt offered the book to James. Just as silently, he took the proffered book, and stared blankly at the title, reading the words, but not really registering what they were saying.

"You found a book about my dad?" he finally asked. "What does it say?"

Matt looked at his friend, and worried his lip. He knew how James had responded to the articles that Rita Skeeter had written in the prophet, but surely his friend would take a book more seriously? Even if what it proposed was, well, rather out there… There was only one way to find out. Taking a deep breath, he opened his mouth, but James cut in.

"Oh, but it's by Skeeter. I _told_ you, you can't take anything she says seriously!" He looked derisively down at the book, and made to hand it back to Matt, but Ali's hand reached out and grabbed his wrist, effectively stopping him.

"And _like Matt said_, everything has a basis in truth!" She stared determinedly at James, and though James tried to stare back defiantly, he couldn't resist the combined weight of her determination and Matt's silent hope. Sighing, he ran his free hand through his hair.

"What does it say then?"

* * *

><p>"But that's ridiculous!" James exclaimed. The friends had returned to the empty classroom, and James had kept true to his word, and listened to their story with an open mind.<p>

"You said you'd try to be open-minded!" accused Ali. Her patience was wearing thin, and she wasn't coping well with coming so close to solving the mystery, only to be met by the wall-of-stubbornness that was James. Folding her arms, she sunk lower into her seat, and resumed staring critically at the boy before her.

Sighing, James unfolded his arms, and leant forwards to pick up the book that lay on the table between them. "And I was," he said. Ali opened her mouth to protest, but James carried on, unwilling to allow her to launch into a lecture. "Look, do either of you honestly believe what the book says?"

"It's the best lead we have!" snapped Ali, her stubbornness rising to match James'. Rolling his eyes, he turned to Matt, and raised his eyebrows.

Matt had been suspiciously silent whilst Ali recounted what Matt had told her earlier. He chewed his lip as he thought about what he had found out. Ali was right – it was the best lead they had – but listening to it from someone else's voice simply fed the doubts he already had. He found the explanations he had built in his own head crumbling, and he was once more being left to blindly trust what an apparently untrustworthy source said. And what the source said was ridiculous, maybe even impossible, and yet, if you had asked him about the existence of magic six months ago, he'd have said the same thing.

"I don't know," he began. Two pairs of eyes narrowed dangerously, so he hurried on. "It's – well, it _is_ ridiculous," James smiled triumphantly. "But like Ali says, it's the best lead we have." Ali turned to smirk at James. "What do you think James?"

James took a deep breath, and began to thumb through the book aimlessly. "It's ridiculous! No really, it is Ali! Look, how can someone possibly be the heir of all four founders? And why has Skeeter just _conveniently_ left out any Ravenclaw-like attributes? _Because she couldn't think of any_. And I know that she writes convincingly, but that's the point! That's what she does. She sees a situation, and interprets it into the best story she can come up with!

"Yeah, okay, I'll admit that that bit she's got about objects belonging to the founders is, well, _convincing_. But the other bits? I mean, that bit about Dad travelling for a year? I _know_ that's wrong, 'cause when I was younger, we had loads of holidays abroad because neither Mum nor Dad had ever seen much of the world.

"And surviving the killing curse? That impossible! That's kind of _why_ it's an unforgivable curse. Okay, there are bits in here which could be true – it kind of does make sense that Dad spent that year doing something with Ron and Hermione, but travelling the world to discover some destiny he was born with? Really?" James finally ground to a halt, and gave off the distinct impression of someone who had run out of air.

James stared at his two closest friends, and they fell into silence as they each considered their position. Both Ali and James were firmly on either side of the fence, yet Matt, the one with the power to swing the situation either way, was just as firmly _on_ the fence between the pair of them. They had reached an inarguable stale-mate.

Whilst James was sure that he was right, there were parts of the story that, though he would never admit to it, really did make sense to him. He had always wondered how his dad had gotten the scar on his forehead – and his numerous other scars for that matter, but there was something more _significant_ about that scar. And what if his dad really had been the one who had killed Riddle? He didn't really want to acknowledge it as true because it surely wasn't, but _if_ it was… Well, it would prove that his dad really was the hero he saw him as. Moreover, it would explain the looks of almost adoration that he could have sworn he saw people giving him sometimes.

The more he considered it, the more he realised that it explained: this family secret that was certainly lurking? The link between his dad and Voldemort? His dad's rapid ascent through the ministry? The reactions of Emily, and Daniel, and Michael, and, well, _everyone_?

James shook his head, trying vainly to rid it of the swirling thoughts. He knew he was being fanciful, and he wanted to avoid disappointment, so he would stick to his guns. Sinking lower in his chair he glared at Ali, who returned the stare just as decisively. Seeking to avoid the battle of wills between James and Ali, Matt turned to look out of the window. It wasn't a terrible day, and it was the first of the holidays, so there were a few braver souls outside. His eyes fell on a familiar shock of blue hair, and the solution fell on him so suddenly that he was surprised that they hadn't thought of it sooner.

"Teddy!" he said excitedly, turning in his seat to beam at his friends. "Why didn't I think of this sooner?"

"Think of what sooner?" asked James irritably.

"We should ask Teddy! If anyone's going to be able to shed any light, it'll be him." James' smile was rising to match Matt's, and Ali wasn't looking unimpressed.

"Yes, of course!" said James fervently. "He looked like he might know something when I mentioned the people staring on the train. I'd completely forgotten about that until now. Where d'you reckon he is?"

Matt smirked at his friend, and gestured towards the window. "One step ahead of you there."

* * *

><p>James, in his excitement, was not looking where he was going, and so, as he rounded the final corner to reach the entrance hall, he ran headlong into someone coming from the opposite direction. The someone in question was considerably more solid than James, and as a result, both the boy and the book he had clasped in his hand, went sprawling across the corridor.<p>

"Sorry, sorry, wasn't looking where I was going," James muttered as he scrambled to pick up the biography. However, just as his hand made contact, a booted foot landed on the cover.

Throwing himself to his feet, James glared at the student before him. He didn't know him, or the other three who stood with him, but he was fairly sure he had seen them sitting at the Slytherin table during meals. He was also fairly sure that they were at least three years above them.

"Can I have the book please?" he asked, deciding that this was one battle he really didn't want to get involved in, especially given the looks of loathing he was receiving from the boys. He felt Matt step slightly closer to him in solidarity, and saw the boy flick his gaze to Matt momentarily, then back to James. He then leant forwards to retrieve the book from beneath his foot.

However, it wasn't until he had returned to an upright position that he looked at the cover. Sneering, he dropped the book, and pulled out his wand instead. His glare deepened into some unrecognisable emotion that was beyond loathing. Pointing his wand at James, he snarled.

"Just who the hell do you think you are?" he asked, advancing on the first years. "You swan around the castle, thinking that just before you're _Harry Potter's_ son you own the place. And then, as if that wasn't enough, you walk around with _that_ piece of trash in case, Merlin forbid, someone doesn't know who your precious father is?"

James glanced nervously at Matt, and saw the boy swallow convulsively, yet defiantly return the glare from one of the other boys. James looked back at the incensed boy before him, and raised a placating hand.

"Look, I'm sorry if you think I've done something wrong. But I'm not my father. My name's James," he smiled half-heartedly, offering his hand. The older boy's grip on his wand tightened, and it moved closer to James' nose; James was almost cross-eyed in his attempt to keep it in sight.

"You'll pay for you arrogance," the boy hissed menacingly, and one of his friend's laughed in appreciation as James' eyes crossed further.

"And you'll make him, I assume?" asked Matt with more bravado than he felt, wishing Ali was still there. She had, however, headed off to find a teacher as soon as she'd seen the other boys, her ability to read a situation proving helpful once more.

James twisted rapidly to look at Matt in alarm. In the blink of an eye, James recognised Matt's own look of shock at his comment, which grew into deeper alarm as he saw something behind James which James was unable to see.

James was in the process of turning to see for himself, when his world went black.


	15. Chapter Fourteen

James groaned and slowly peeled back his heavy eyelids. Immediately, he snapped them shut again, momentarily blinded by an overwhelming brightness. Hesitantly, he reopened them, allowing himself to take in his surroundings, and it was, with some confusion, that he realised he was in the hospital wing.

Once the light had returned to a normal level, he slowly turned his head to the left – his neck stiff from lack of movement – and was met by the even gaze of his father. A slow smile spread across Harry's tired face, and he visibly relaxed.

"Wha-?" began James, his voice breaking slightly. Harry simply smiled once more, before leaning forwards to help James sit up and passing him the glass of water which sat beside the hospital bed.

"How about I talk, and you drink?" he suggested, both Potter men slipping easily into their familiarity, where words seemed excessive at times. James simply raised the glass to his lips, and looked at his father with raised eyebrows.

"You were heading out towards the grounds," Harry began, watching his son's reaction carefully, "When you were set upon by some Slytherin Fourth years. Luckily, your friend – Ali, I think? – went to fetch a teacher, and so when you were hexed, she and Neville had arrived in time to witness it, and he ensured nothing more happened. They're up in McGonagall's office now."

James stared at his father with disbelief – why on earth would these boys have taken such a dislike towards him? Unless, of course, the book…

Apparently reading his sons thoughts, Harry spoke again. "Did you do anything to aggravate them?" he asked, a trace of humour in voice, absently turning the book in his hands, causing James to notice is for the first time.

Eyes trained on the book, James tried to form a coherent sentence, which would convey the confusion which was swirling through his mind. Raising his gaze to his father's face, his train of thought ground to a halt as he registered the amused smirk on his father's face. Irritation flared; why couldn't his dad see how confused he was? Wasn't he at all concerned to see his eldest son in the hospital wing?

Lashing out verbally, he snapped at Harry with more venom than he meant, "No, Dad, I have _no_ idea why someone who _doesn't know me_ would want to attack me. I'm a little confused you see, because it _seems_ like my family has been keeping secrets from me. But that can't _possibly_ be true, can it? Why would you feel the need to do that?" Taking a deep breath, James folded his arms over his chest, and turned his face away from his father.

They sat in stony silence for what felt like hours, before James' temper finally settled, and with some regret turned his face back to his father. Upon seeing Harry however, he almost wished he was still looking away.

Because his father looked _broken_. His head was turned down, and he gazed without seeing at Skeeter's book, which was now lying discarded on his son's legs. There were no tears, but there was a raw sense of vulnerability exuding from the man whom James had always believed could fix any given situation. The realisation that his dad - regardless of whether what Skeeter had written was true or not - was only human, struck James like a ton of bricks. He opened his mouth to offer some sort of comfort, but whatever words he might have summoned caught in his throat, and so, with some awkwardness, James settled for resting his hand on his father's shoulder.

They sat like that for an indefinable length of time – their roles of father and son reversed in a cruel twist of fate. Finally, after hours or mere moments, Harry raised his head, and met his son's guilty eyes. Swallowing nervously, he murmured, "I thought I was doing the right thing." There was a sense of asking for forgiveness, for approval, in his father's speech, and as James stared wordlessly at him, he saw, for the first time, the lonely boy who had found his first home at the age of eleven.

James' eyelids were starting to droop by the time his father had regained his usual demeanour. Smiling, he lifted his son's hand from his shoulder, and leaning over, kissed him on the forehead.

James smiled; relieved his father was back to man he looked up to. Glad though he was that his father was back to normal, it still didn't rectify the problem that they face. "You owe me an explanation," he said seriously.

"Yes," his dad responded equally seriously, "I do. But for now you need to sleep."

* * *

><p>The next time James awoke, the first thing he saw was the tear-stained face of his little sister. With alarm, he sat up straight – pleased that the stiffness he had experienced earlier had disappeared – and pulled his sister into a hug.<p>

"Hey, hey Lils," he said soothingly, smoothing down her hair. "What's wrong?" Lily just sniffed noisily in response, and pulled herself closer to her big brother.

"I think she was worried about you," he heard his mother respond, before she moved into his line of vision as she came to sit at the end of his bed. She smiled warmly at her son, before leaning back, and calling across the hospital wing. "He's awake."

James barely had time to register the sudden sound of footfalls hurrying through the hospital, before a dark haired blur hurtled into his side unoccupied by Lily. He smiled fondly at Albus, knowing that he would have claimed to be unconcerned, whilst worrying secretly – James would have done the same thing. He wrapped a comforting arm around his little brother, before nudging him off the edge of the bed.

Albus picked himself off the floor and scowled at James, settling into an unoccupied chair. James just winked at him, and spread out into the recently vacated space. Lily giggled, her tears apparently overcome, and both boys suppressed fond smiles; neither noticed their mother's smile.

Two pairs of footsteps announced Harry and Mme Pomfrey's arrival. The nurse smiled warmly at the family gathered around the bed, and turned to Harry.

"At least it's not you, this time," she said. Harry just smiled wanly and looked down at his feet, shuffling awkwardly. James wondered abstractly if these moments which had always caused him so much confusion would soon make sense.

The matron bustled over to James, checking his pulse, and pressing a cool hand to his forehead to check his temperature. "Well, all seems normal," she said smiling at him, "You're free to leave now. You should be fine – just come back if you get any headaches, or the such. I'll leave you to get changed."

Ginny rose from the end of her son's bed, and moved round to give him a kiss on the forehead, like her husband's earlier action.

"I'm glad you're okay, honey," she said, tucking down a strand of his hair, whilst he batted her hand away half-heartedly. "Not that I had any doubt in Mme Pomfrey's abilities. We do really need to be getting back home now, though. And make sure you write soon."

James watched as his mother gathered up her bag, and as his siblings hopped off the bed and chair they occupied. Like his mother, Lily offered him a kiss on his forehead, and, true to form, his brother punched him on the arm.

As they made their way towards the door, James realised how much he had missed his family. He unconsciously shifted back into the cushions, allowing them to engulf him, and trained his eyes on his mother's retreating figure. She paused in the doorway, and turned to smile at her eldest child fondly.

"They really were worried about you, you know – they look up to you."

James smiled, and turned to look for his clothes, jumping when he noticed his Dad sat on the chair beside his bed.

"What?" he screeched, his shock getting the better of him.

"I thought you wanted an explanation?" he smiled.


	16. Chapter Fifteen

It was later that evening that James found himself pausing outside of McGonagall's office. Earlier, as they left the hospital wing, his father had suggested that he head down to get dinner before they discussed anything, and since James had missed lunch, he was only too keen to agree to this. It was purely by coincidence that they had then run into the Headmistress, who had in turn offered her office to afford them some degree of privacy.

Swallowing down his sudden and uncalled for nerves, James cautiously raised his fist, and knocked on the door. To his surprise – and relief – the door was opened by Teddy, who waved him into the room.

Trying not to question the situation too far, James preceded his would-be-brother into the room, and sank into the vacant seat beside his father, wondering at the relaxed familiarity that existed between the adults. His gaze slid from his father, to McGonagall behind her desk, to Neville, and finally to Teddy, now lounging on his chair with an amused smirk on his face.

_If I thought this was going to lessen my confusion_, thought James, _I was sorely mistaken._

It was Teddy who finally broke the silence, apparently unable to contain himself any longer. "I _knew_ they were up to something!" he exclaimed triumphantly.

"Well," said Harry, his tone laced with sarcasm, "It would have been nice if you'd stepped in _before_ he ended up in the hospital wing."

Teddy twisted his hands guiltily in his lap, refusing to meet Harry's gaze. "I would never have imagined anything like this happening," he said, still speaking resolutely to his hands. "I'm _so_ sorry," he added in a small voice.

"_None_ of us saw this coming," said McGonagall kindly, smiling at Teddy when he looked up gratefully at her. "But I think that it's probably for the best that James gets the real story, rather than some garbled version from dubious sources."

James froze, like a deer caught in the head lights, as all of the other occupants of the room turned to look at him. All of the questions which had been forming in his mind over the past hour fled from his mind, and he managed to utter an eloquent "Um."

Harry smiled, and stepped in, once more demonstrating the unspoken bond that the two seemed to share. "I'm sure you're wondering why these three are here too?" James simply nodded mutely – now that his father had raised the point, he was curious. Harry glanced at his son, and settled further into his chair, assuming the position of the story teller who knows they have a long story to tell.

"Well," he began, "I thought that Teddy deserved the chance to get the whole story, rather than just the pieces he had outright asked about. Professor McGonagall, has been part of this since before _my_ part of the story began, and likewise, there are parts of the story that Neville – I, uh, mean Professor Longbottom – knows far better than I." He paused, and looked at Neville, their eyes meeting, allowing a silent communication to pass between them. The room fell into silence as they watched the two men communicate, unable to even begin to guess at what ran between them.

Finally, Harry turned back to look at his son. "Do you have any specific questions?" he prompted.

James floundered for just a moment before asking the first question that came to him. "What were you really doing during what should have been your seventh year?" he asked.

Harry's eyebrows rose, and somewhere behind James, Neville's expression darkened at the reminder of his final year at Hogwarts; McGonagall placed a comforting hand on his arm.

"There's nothing like jumping in at the deep end, is there?" Harry smiled at his son. "I can't really explain that without first starting at the very beginning…" he said, pausing to look at James as though asking for permission. Once more, James could do no more than nod dumbly.

Harry glance once more around the room, his gaze settling for a moment on the portrait of Dumbledore which hung behind McGonagall's desk, before he turned back to his son. There was a tension akin to an electric current in the room, and James was sat on the edge of his seat.

Harry took a deep breath, and began to speak directly to his son, though there was no doubt that everyone else in the room was hanging on his every word. "Well, regardless of where you got your information from, there can be no doubt that there is a unique link between me and Riddle. So, it should come as no surprise that the story begins with him.

"What not a lot of people know, is that he was orphaned as a child, and grew up in the muggle world. When he started Hogwarts, he showed great potential, and it soon became apparent that he sought nothing more than power. After finishing school, he began to amass followers, and power, and so his reign of terror began." He paused, and looked at James. "But of course, you know about _that_."

James nodded, and prodded his father to continue. "So where do you fit into this?"

Harry sighed, and glanced at McGonagall. Once more, she offered him her reassuring smile, and, taking a deep breath, Harry continued.

"Around the time I was born, a prophecy was made. It said that the one to defeat Riddle would soon come. It was overheard, and relayed to Riddle. Riddle in turn, interpreted it to be talking about me. On Halloween in 1981, he came to my parents' home with the intent to kill all three of us. After my parents' died, he tried to kill me, but the curse failed, and he was 'destroyed'." Harry faltered, and his bottom lip trembled minutely. James stared, dumbstruck; Skeeter's book had more or less told them this already, but to have it confirmed was another thing altogether.

Sensing Harry's unease, McGonagall picked up the story. "Word spread like wildfire through the magical world – Voldemort's was defeated! And by a baby! There wasn't a man, woman, or child who hadn't heard of Harry Potter." She offered Harry a sad smile. "Professor Dumbledore decided that it would be best to place Harry in the care of his Aunt and her family, his Aunt being his only living blood relative. He worked an ancient piece of magic whereby the protection his mother provided him with by sacrificing herself, would live on in his Aunt's blood."

"And so," said Harry, "I was cut off from the magical world for the next ten years of my life. I won't claim that they treated me well, but I was, at least, alive. Then Hagrid came into the picture, and suddenly everything changed – but you already know that part of the story.

"I had an… _eventful_ time at Hogwarts, to say the least. It was in my fourth year, during the Tri-Wizarding tournament that Riddle rose again. But he had grown wise during his exile. He kept to the shadows this time, and for a long time, no one believed that he had returned. I was painted an attention seeking liar." The was a bitter edge to Harry's tone – he had yet to reconcile his differences with the Daily Prophet.

"I saw the articles," offered James.

Harry raised his eyebrows, "You did do your research. I'm impressed. So, eventually, after an incident at the ministry, the wizarding world could no longer deny his return, and so, I became the victimised hero again." The bitter tone was still colouring Harry's story, and it reminded James of the vulnerability he had seen in his father earlier in the day.

"Wait a second," said Teddy, "I thought you said he was destroyed? You can't just _return_."

Harry looked at his God-son, before glancing at the painting of Dumbledore again. "And so we reach James' initial question," he said. "Riddle had taken a series of steps to prevent himself from dying, to make himself immortal.

"Have you ever heard of a horcrux?" he asked, half-heartedly, already knowing that they wouldn't. There were some parts of his story that he had wanted kept out of the public eye – mostly through fear that someone would attempt to copy them at some point in the future. "Well, a horcrux, is an object in which a wizard places a piece of his soul. As long as your horcrux is intact, you cannot truly die." He paused, and smiled absently at the look of disgust on the two youngster's faces.

"It's incredibly dark magic – the soul can only be split through an act of murder. At the point when Riddle killed my parents, he had already created five. That's what we spent that year hunting down – yes, I was with Ron and Hermione – the horcruxes. Contrary to the picture Skeeter's book paints, it was in the UK. And it was a miserable year. Not that it was any better at Hogwarts." Harry glanced at Neville, and the other man picked up the story.

"In our seventh year, Hogwarts was being run by Death Eaters. Life was miserable for anyone opposed to Voldemort. A group of us reformed the DA – you've heard about that? Though I don't suppose your father told you he used to be the leader – and it became a sort of resistance group. We tried to raise morale, and help those who needed it, but there was only so much we could do. The Death Eaters had a very different view on what was an acceptable punishment to us. Eventually, some of us had to go into hiding.

"By this point, it was only me left leading the group. Your mum had never returned after Easter, and Luna had been missing since Christmas, so it was getting hard to really _do_ anything. Mostly, we were just focussed on staying alive, and more or less intact. It wasn't a school anymore, not really.

"And then your dad returned, and Ron and Hermione. Battered and bruised, but alive."

"And we brought war with us," said Harry sadly. It was something which had always troubled him – he knew that there would always have been a war, but it didn't lessen his guilt, and even if the situation was different, he would still carry the same guilt.

"We knew that the final horcrux was at Hogwarts, and by this point Riddle knew what we were hunting. We had no choice but to come. And so the Battle of Hogwarts came to be." Harry fell silent, and turned to gaze out of the window at the rapidly failing light. They sat in silence for a long time; the adults remembering that day, the youngsters mulling over everything they had learnt.

Finally, Harry began to speak again. "I died that day."

The silence that engulfed the room was deafening, it was absolute. No one spoke. Harry had only spoken of it once before, and Neville and McGonagall only knew that which had been relayed to them by Hermione one day.

"I learnt that day, in this office in fact, that I was also a horcrux – not intentionally made, but real nonetheless. We were destroying horcruxes, we always knew that we faced death, who was I to shy away from it? So I walked into the forest, and I let him kill me.

"I genuinely intended to let him kill me, and in doing so, I offered the same magical protection that my mother had given me to everyone. But it didn't work as I thought it would – he killed me, yes, but he was tied to my life too. And so I faced the choice, go on or come back.

"I guess you know my choice." He offered a weak smile, eyes nervously flicking from face to face. "And then Neville destroyed the final horcrux, and I killed Riddle." He finished rather lamely.

James stared at his father in disbelief. He had always believed that his father was a hero – but to discover that he really was, that he had genuinely saved the wizarding world… He found it impossible to wrap his mind around, and yet, he believed every word his father had said. But something was still bugging him.

"But, why?" he asked, looking up into the familiar face of his father. "Why you?"

His father laughed bitterly. "I asked myself the same thing hundreds of times. It was all because of the prophecy, and what it dictated. I couldn't walk away from any of this, because it was such a part of my life. I couldn't deny it, and I couldn't fight it. One of us would die either way."

Sighing, he sat up a little straighter, and looked at McGonagall. "Do you mind?" he asked, gesturing towards a corner cupboard.

"Not at all."

James watched, enthralled, as his father rose from his seat, and opened the cupboard. From it, he withdrew a shallow stone basin, covered in ancient runes, and filled with a swirling fluid that James wasn't sure whether it was gas or liquid. Harry then picked up his wand, and touched it to his forehead, withdrawing a strand of what appeared to be, gossamer.

As Harry prodded the surface of the fluid, an ethereal woman rose from the basin, and slowly revolved on the spot. Before beginning to speak:

* "_The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches… _

_Born to those who have thrice defied him, _

_Born as the seventh month dies... _

_And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, _

_But he will have power the Dark Lord knows not... _

_And either must die at the hand of the other _

_For neither can live while the other survives."_

The five people watched silently as the mysterious woman slowly faded away. It was Neville who finally broke the silence.

"I never heard it in its entirety," he said, his voice wavering with a curious degree of emotion.

Harry placed a comforting hand on his friend's shoulder as he rose to place the basin back in the cupboard. James raised his eyebrows, silently asking for an explanation, but none was offered.

When his father had reclaimed his seat, he turned back to his son, and God-son, and, in a gesture strikingly similar to his son, raised his eyebrows. Teddy numbly shook his head, his mind too crowded with questions to find one significant enough to ask. James meanwhile laughed nervously, and asked the one prevailing question which he already knew the answer to.

"So you're not the heir of all four Hogwarts founders then?" His question finally cut the mounting tension, and the room dissolved into laughter.

"No, James. I'm afraid I'm not," harry responded.

Sensing that the conversation had reached its conclusion, at least for today, James and Teddy rose from their seats, and bid the others good-night as they made their way towards the exit.

James however, paused in the door, and turned back to his father.

"Is it, um, okay if I tell Ali and Matt all of this?" he asked hesitantly.

He was surprised however, when McGonagall laughed, and answered for Harry. "If you're anything like your father, you will regardless of what he says."

* * *

><p>"That's not even half of the story, is it?" James asked Teddy as they made their way back to the common room.<p>

Teddy looked down at the boy he considered a brother, and smiled. "No, not even close. We haven't even mentioned my parents' stories." He paused, and pursed his lips. "But it's enough. For now."

James nodded in silent agreement. Teddy was right, for now, it _was_ enough.

* * *

><p>Little did they know that back in McGonagall's office, a similar conversation was taking place.<p>

"So when are you going to tell them the rest of the story?" Neville asked, nudging his friend.

Harry rolled his eyes, and turned to face him. "When I have a spare few days?" he joked.

McGonagall laughed gently, before becoming serious again. "I am sorry that this happened though, Harry."

"It wasn't your fault," he said, smiling at the woman who had done so much for him over the years. "If anything, it was mine. I should have told them, all of them, the truth a long time ago. But I just wanted them to have a normal childhood, one without the shadow of my past hanging over them. Maybe I made the wrong decision," he said with a shrug.

"Will you tell Al and Lily?" asked Neville.

Harry paused, unsure of his answer. On the one hand, he didn't want anything like this to happen again, but on the other hand, his children deserved a normal childhood. He turned to look once more at the portrait of his mentor, and it was to him he spoke his decision.

"No," he said, "I don't think I will. Researching my problems never did me any harm, and if they ask I'll tell them, of course." The portrait of Dumbledore smiled approvingly at him, and he spoke with more conviction.

"No. It's a story they need to discover for themselves."

* * *

><p>* Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, page 741<p> 


	17. Epilogue

Epilogue

James floundered in his head, desperately searching for something, anything to say. Glancing up, he met his father's calm gaze, mouth open, ready to say something to satisfy Albus' curiosity.

However, both were surprised when a third voice beat them to the mark.

* "_Don't let it worry you," said Ron. "It's me. I'm extremely famous."_

_Albus, Rose, Hugo and Lily laughed._ James once more met his father's eyes, and smiled, silently acknowledging the harsh truth in the words.

* * *

><p>* Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, page 607<p>

**AN**: And there it is, the end. I apologise that it was so long in the coming.


End file.
